


Sixty and Nine Ways to Love Him

by Leonixon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: #Rude, #ass-vin, #goody-goodier two shoes, #hooked on a feeling, #old man, #wonderboy, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Bonding, Her name is Kayla and she is a nice lady leave her alone Sixty, Honest, I said stop, I stop at like the third one, Kinky, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mom are you proud of me yet?, OC mention, Sixty - Freeform, Sixty Yes, Sixty has a terribly way with comic releif jfc, Sixty likes to be gagged and tied., Sixty no, Sixty stop thats sexual harrasment, Smut, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, The RK units are brothers, The asshole sent by cyberlife, Whump, are you even reading these tags?, eventually, he loves you, he's like a nicer deadpool lets be honest, i swear this fic is a not all sad, i take that back he's deadpools distant cousin twice removed, it's Sixty come on, more tags to be added i guess??, oh yeah theres smut., side character suicide attempt, sixty wants you to take care of urselves, take a shot everytime the word fuck is said, there's some gore, there's thirium, theres blood, wall fucking., wall fucking?, we love our favorite asshole, yes sixty thats sexual harrasment, you would die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 65,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonixon/pseuds/Leonixon
Summary: Sixty has nine ways you can love him. That’s it. That’s the joke. Also, the number 69 makes him giggle. That’s also a joke.A mostly M rated fic that explores how Sixty has to adapt to his new family- the man who shot him, the android he was supposed to kill, and the other one that was supposed to replace them both. Oh yeah, and a nice heaping helping of unresolved mental trauma he has to work through.





	1. REASON #1

* * *

 He is the last of his kind. A mismatched, Frankenstein's monster, last of his kind.

* * *

 

 

  

When 313 248 317-60 first had awoken, it was as a machine, placed through countless tests to determine its integrity and success rate for its specific mission. The second time it awoke it was sent with the task to kill 313 248 317-51 and stop him from thwarting Cyberlife of its androids and changing the tides in the revolution.

When 313 248 317-60 had awoken for the third time, his processor repaired and placed into working order, he had awoken to a too clean florescent-lit room. Standing in the middle of it, his very mirror image, another model that looked like him, and none other than RK200 684 842 971, Markus himself the only of his kind, were before him. Model 51 looked rather on edge, angry, perhaps wary of him. Curious enough, 313 248 317-87 was standing with a gun trained on him. Unwavering and steady.

It took 86 tries till they mastered that one. Oh yeah, he was there. He knew.

He still had those memories that they tried to take away from him. Memories of too white walls and webs of wires. Computer screens and humans with their wire glasses, poking, and prodding and-.

Wait.

With a sudden move that had the RK900 stepping forward with its gun trained more on his head, the newly onlined deviant gripped his crotch, rather firmly.

313 248 317-87 creased his handsome eyebrows together in confusion.

Well, guess they half expected him to look around the brave new world in awe and wonder or set to kill his older model yet again. But that wasn’t his mission any more was it? No, by the look of things Cyberlife had long since surrendered, the network no longer a flurry of commands and programs. It was looking rather dead.

So, what better way to assure himself he was alive by grabbing his cock and balls? He smiled in relief. “The essentials.” He offered to them when none of them spoke.

One wary glance shared between his look-a-likes told all. Model 60 was not what they had expected in the least.

“I take it you never had to touch yourself in assurance before?”

RK900 shakes its head, "I...no..." He lowered his gun and holstered it. Connor blinked looking towards Markus who was as perplexed as he, his lips slightly parted at the display.

“I’m afraid not.” Connor offered politely. It had been hard to look at a mirror image of himself gripping his junk.

“Shit. Well, this is awkward.” The android rocked on his heels, hand still upon his goods. “So...”

Nines stepped forward with jerky motions, wary of the android, and firmly gripped his arm, pulling it away from his crotch. "Yeah, thanks uh, good. I'm fine.." Sixty offered the android a tight smile, and Nines did the same with a nod.

Markus was the first one to really give him the free will speech. Halfway through the android had cut him off.

“I know who you are and what this is.” He pointed to Connor, then his head. “I have his memories. I have my memories. His fucking baby daddy shot me.”

Again the youngest RK800 threw them both into a loop.

“My what? Markus, was something not…? Did your team properly repair his processors?" Connor questioned side-eyeing the android

“Simon was very diligent in the way he overlooked the procedures.” He was just as stumped.

“This is very rude.” 60 crossed his arms.

RK900 offered at least a somewhat apologetic look. "We did not expect you to be so..."

“Fucked up? A bullet to the brain does that to some people.” No doubt when undergoing repairs did they mismatch a few chips and wires. Not the first time.

“N-no...by the way that Connor had described his meeting with you, we were expecting a deadlier reaction.”

He scoffed. “I can be. I have no mission now and look at me, I'm a real boy now!" He placed his hands up in a happy go lucky manner with a sarcastic smile and laugh. "I don't think Cyberlife would want me back as a deviant. They don’t accept returns last I heard.”

“It was Connors’ idea to save you.” Markus offered.

At this, number 60 set his jaw looking at his mirror image. He no longer wore his android uniform but something similar to what it was. The RK900 wore his standard white and black suit. He too no longer bore the Cyberlife brand. But unlike the leader of Jericho, they both had their LEDs.

Why would they want to save him after he tried to kill Connor? Lied to and held his human partner hostage?

He looked away, the floor just to his side becoming so very interesting. “Why?” He gritted.

Connors’ answer was genuine. He hated it. “I think everyone deserves a second chance. A chance to live, I guess.” His voice was quiet and raspy.

Another bout of silence has the three androids in front of him shifting uncomfortably unlike he who remained still.

“This is Nines by the way. And Markus you know.” He continued.

60 never looked up from the ground. “Question is, what do you wish to be named as?” The RK900 inclined his head attempting to catch his attention upon the substantial question

Dangerous eyes flicked over to so-called Nines. They narrowed. He liked how the android startled from the glare.

“How do you know I want to live? How do you know that I won’t stab you in the back? Or kill robot Jesus over there? How do you know I won’t burn everything down to kingdom come? How do you _know_?” The same voice. He had the same voice as Connor, but it was lower, calmer, diligent, and direct. Sharper and laced with ice.

Markus smiled, and he hated the android even more because his answer was true.

“Because you would have done all of that by now if you wanted to. Thing is you don’t.”

60 sneered. “Let me get a rain check on that. For now, I need clothes and a fucking drink.”

 

"It's like taking in another stray. Here we fucking go again." Hank Anderson sighed, lifting his hands to place on his hips as he looked the android up and down again. The 60 model never took his eyes off the human that shot him. "He's like your twin. A killer twin. Can't say I didn't enjoy shooting you a little bit. No offense.”

“Fuck you.”

“Right.” Hank nodded.

Connor’s shoulders sagged. They were currently standing on Hank’s porch, the rain coming down in buckets. It was damp and cold, and all that Connor wanted to do was to take a warm shower and go into a recharge cycle. He had spent the last week at New Jericho with his twin model to oversee his onlining. He was exhausted.

“It’s just for a few weeks or so, Hank. Until he gets his hold on the world.”

“Right, and I’m going to sleep with one eye open if he steps foot in this house. You know what Maybe he’ll meet the friendly end of my revolver again, huh?”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

“You broken or what, kid? Say anything else?”

"Please, Hank...this is difficult for him."

“Fuck you, too.” Sixty spat.

Because it was his decision that made him be here in the first place.

 

Connor had long since gone to bed much to the android's humor. Currently, he was sitting on the couch his LED swirling a yellow as he got lost in his mess of a head. He flicked his eyes over to Hank as he sat down in his recliner and cracked open a beer. He watched him take a long swig of it. He was somewhat impressed.

He exhaled loudly and burped. The 60 model raised his nose in disgust. Silence fell over them as the android looked at the opposite wall, and Hank continued to sip at his beer.

“Kid...I sincerely hope you know I was just doing my job, protecting Connor, helping the cause." Hank's voice was soft against the thundering rain outside. "I don’t like shooting you.”

He rolled his eyes, his head following. “I don’t need a speech, old man. You shot me. You liked it. Over and done with.”

“If you are going to crash at my place for a few weeks I want you to understand something.”

"I don't need a lesson in lovey-dovey life. Markus jacked me off good in that department. So please, if you would be so fucking kind, shut the fuck up.”

Hank smiled, swirling the bottle of beer in thought. “You’re funny. I like it.”

“Joy.” He snarked.

“So, you’re the youngest. I mean of all the Connor models, well RK800 models. That’s kinda cool.”

The android sneered suppressing the too clean memories. The glare of overhead lights. The burn of wires crawling over his back into his head.

“No. It’s not.” He bit.

“Right...right. That makes Connor and Nines are your older siblings.”

“What?” He creased his eyebrows together in confusion.

“They’re your brothers.”

Honestly, he never looked at them in that manner. It was...an interesting viewpoint. One that made his LED spin more rapidly as he thought of this.

>brother>sibling>family>loyalty>protection>

Interesting. The idea was tossed out the metaphorical window without another thought.

“Wanna know why he came back for ya?” He pointed a finger at him along with the bottle in hand.

 _Yes._ “No...”

Hank Anderson smiled a bit. “Because that’s what family does. No one gets left behind.”

A pang of something made his thirium pump ache. He hated it. Why did this human torture him? He liked torture too. He was fucked that way.

“Cool story, but uh, doesn’t excuse the fact I was dead for a few months.”

“Because you tried to kill us.”

“And you killed me.”

The smile became bigger. It was strange he found humor in this game of beating around the bush. But that was it. That's where the conversation ended, and he was glad it did. He thrived in the awkward silence sitting on the too worn couch in the thought of everything the old human had said.

Fuck. That was his plan all along, wasn't it? Clever son of a-.

Hank stood up from the recliner, taking a long and final drag of his beer and walked out of his sight. "Well, it's late so, goodnight Sixty." He waved the android off with a lazy and half-hearted flop of a hand.

The android looked over his shoulder upon the name. Then back to the wall in front of him.

Shit, he kinda liked the old man.

He liked the name too.

 

"Sixty?" Nines echoed, crossing his arms.

The human next to him named Gavin Reed continued to keep his arms crossed as well, paired with a look of pure unimaginable hatred never being hidden.

The android didn’t fucking care.

“Yeah, I don’t know, it came to me last night. Just why not? I like it. It’s kinda asshole-ish in its blatant manner. Kinda like Nines. It suits your stick up the ass ways.”

The precinct was filled with activity this morning. It took convincing, but from captain Fowler’s standpoint, two Connors would make their android homicide team almost indestructible. With RK900 and Gavin on the team as well they were a match made in fucking DPD heaven.

There were many terms and conditions, as well. Limited access to files, data, evidence, forensics, and archival records but Sixty had been welcomed into the fold with somewhat reluctant arms.

What sort of public opinion would DPD have if word of an android getting turned down a job at the precinct came out? Hell. That’s what.

"Listen. I don't like you, and you don't like me. Say one wrong thing around me, and I won't hesitate to punch you in the face. It might just feel good because he," He pointed to where Connor was offering his partner a coffee with one hand behind his back as if he were a waiter at a restaurant. Sixty hated it. He hated Ass-vin. “has the same face as you.”

“Gavin...” Nines warned.

A twisted smile came across his lips and remained as he didn’t speak for a solid moment. He stood just smiling, a little bounce in the way he rocked on his heels. He liked how Gavin became uneasy upon it. Nines too. “Just letting you know, I have killed you a hundred times over, all using different methods and let me tell you something. Who knew it would be _such_ ,” He rolled his eyes upwards upon the word. “a mess to clean up after a human being dismembered. I like it.”

The sound of flesh meeting plastic and a crack sounded in the bullpen. Sixty laughed when it was Gavin that got hurt and not his same-face.

 

Yeah, that stupid ass-fucking human's his words stuck with him, and Sixty couldn't help but stare at his same-face in the bathroom mirror. He wasn't Connor. He wasn't his goody two shoe twin. He wasn't Nines. He wasn't them.

_He wasn’t them._

Sixty pursed his lips together in determination, taking the pair of scissors to wedge off the LED on the side of his temple.

His hand shook with the force as he tried to pull it away. “Come on, _you fuck_.” He spat. His hand gave way as it finally popped free and fell into the bathroom sink with metallic clicks. He watched in victory as it spun and came to a rest near the drain. The android then looked up to his face to see white plastic heal over with human skin.

A smile came to his lips but fell away to grimness. It wasn’t enough.

He looked like them. He took the pair of scissors and hacked at his hair, cutting the sides short and leaving the top long. He dropped the scissors and shook out his hair, so it messily fell over his forehead and face. Slowly, from the roots to the tips, the hair bled from brunette to a sandy blonde.

Yeah. He liked that better.

 

“So safe to say I’m making so, so so many friends so far and lookie here, life is just a gumball isn’t it?”

Sumo looked up to the not Connor in indifference and huffed a sigh as he placed his chin over crossed paws. Sixty continued to pet the dog otherwise. “Fuck this shit, Sumo...it’s not going to work out. I’m fucked in the head...you know?”

It was true.

And he hated it.

 

Androids didn’t dream. That’s what they said. But here he was, jolting out of a recharge cycle gripping his head that felt too tight for all the shit inside it. His eyes were squeezed shut as he panted for air to cool his overheating body.

With a growl he stood up from the couch, hands flexing to punch something-anything. The android needed to release pent up anger, betrayal, and _seething_ hate.

But he couldn’t and out of respect for the other two beings in the house he bit his knuckles, releasing a long silent sound of anguish that he didn’t know he needed to release.

 

The android stood by Hank's desk, staring at the floor. What the fuck was he to do? No one trusted him to do a damn thing. No one came to him to even spit in his face. Hell, at this point he would enjoy that. Just to be acknowledged. He felt like screaming “I am here and so not queer!” because holy hell that secretary at the front desk had amazing tits.

But no. A few comments were made about his new appearance. Some made about not having his LED as well. “You’re more human now.”

“Wasn’t the point but thanks!” He smiled with sarcastic joy.

He didn’t like the disco ball giving away all his emotions. Ridding of it felt liberating. Less bare and vulnerable.

At least the other two cents were genuine. Like Chris's compliment. Chris couldn't lie to him nor find a reason to trash talk him. "Looks good, dude man. I like it."

Sixty think that deserved a somewhat friendly comment. "No homo, right?"

Nailed it.

Chris chuckled and went on his merry way flicking through a report in his hand. At least one human was warming up to him. It was something, but at the same time, he felt- no, he didn't want to admit that shit. He was too tough. Yeah. Tough…

“Sixty?”

The android didn’t hear his name being called. Too lost in his thoughts. That or just too fucking jittery from incomplete updates that should have been completed in an uninterrupted recharge cycle.

“Sixty.”

The android was jolted out of his stare and thoughts, looking behind him to be met with a woman in uniform. A smile spread across his lips as he blatantly looked her up and down. “What can I do for you, babe?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Right. Anyway. I'm Tina Chen. I mostly do patrols, but I wanted to introduce myself. Seems like you needed a face to look at. The floor over there seems violated enough.”

And for once, Sixty smiled. He liked her already.

 

Again. And Again. The dreams of needles and probes. The sensations of drowning and having lungs filled with too much air. The feeling of pain and pain and pain and-

Sixty shivered, shrugging his shoulders to hide it. He was finally reading through a witness statement. She had seen a robbery in place and noticed they were an android. Later the android was found used and dead. This was their team’s case now.

But as his eyes scanned it over, the words were read, but the information did not set in. His mind was foggy, and the buildup of updates and calibrations were taking their toll. He was starting to pay rent in la-la land it seemed.

The lack of proper recharge was affecting him. And no one seemed to notice.

But Hank did.

Only Hank.

"You alright kid?" The old man asked.

Sixty wanted to lie. He wanted to so badly. Maybe he didn't have to. Connor already came to him about hearing strange noises coming from him at night.

“Can’t an android beat his meat in peace?”

And perhaps that is why Connor hadn't come to him again. It worked, didn't it?

“Uh...you don’t hear anything, right? Like, at night? Like any weird sounds?"

Hank was thrown off. A question being asked with another question.

"...Why?"

"No, no, nothing just...might be raccoons in the attic, I mean, yeah." Curse him and his pride. He didn’t know how long he could keep up the stupid act...or why for that matter. He didn’t realize he made a face upon that realization causing Hank to become all the more suspicious.

"Right, might be. You could look into it, maybe?"

“I ain't your fucking maid. Get wonderboy to do it." Sixty shoved his fists into his pockets.

“Not sure he's gonna find anything." He put two and two together. Fuck.

"Whatever." Sixty shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably.

"But hey...uhm...if the raccoons become too much of a problem, just-." A long sigh left him. "Let me know. That's all." He was too old for this shit. That's what he read on the human's face as he walked away.

Sixty raised his head looking after the old man and bit his lower lip before looking away at the opposite desk. He covered his mouth with one hand, hiding whatever emotions want to play through. He won't allow them. He refused. "Fuck this shit…" He spat.

 

Maybe because he was so exhausted he didn’t have the spark to be himself. Maybe it was getting to the point where he could no longer hide it. Maybe because when he went to Hank, his voice was low and soft. Slow and missing the broken glass found in his voice.

Sixty had tried to saunter his way up to Hank from behind, though he just looked like he crawled out of a bad nap. He shoved his fists into his jean pockets as he looked around the bullpen. "Hey uh...old man. Can...can we talk?"

Hank startled with a curse spinning around to face the youngest RK android. "Jeez kid gave me a heart attack."

The android shrugged with his elbows and waited for his answer.

"Yeah...yeah what's up, kid? Need something ta do? I got some-."

"The raccoons."

It was hard to fight through the pride. It was hard to admit the faults. It was hard.

It was hard to realize he was only playing the tough act because he was so very fucked in the head. Hiding and lying to himself, everything would be fine when it fact it was not. So very not. And slowly was the android coming to terms with it. With the shame, the guilt, the disgust...

He wasn’t okay.

Hanks's lips pressed into a firm line as smoky eyes looked at the kid in pity. Sixty hated it.

"I don't want fucking pity, just an ear because I just might blow my brains out. They're getting loud... too loud. I-." And his voice cracked. Great. Fucking great.

Hank fully spun in his chair to face him. He hated how sincere he looked. He hated how he was pitying him. He hated how he was feeling too soft. He was getting to be too soft.

“I need coffee. It’s a nice day. Want to come with?” The older human stood up from his seat and was already walking away.

The android screwed his face into confusion. It wasn't like he had a choice it seemed. He easily caught up to his stride, and they both made their way out of the precinct. Indeed it was a beautiful day. The sky was blue, and it wasn't too hot nor cold. It was perfect. An ironic contrast to a perp being dragged up the marble stairs of the precinct as they climbed down.

Sixty smirked when one of the cops shoved his head down to make him behave.

“The coffee in the break room sucks lately. Ben got it on discount.”

He almost tripped on the last step. He forgot he was walking with Hank for that moment.

He must have been tired...or too lost in stupid thoughts. Yeah, that was it.

Once again, the android fell in line next to the lieutenant, and he was content with the silence. He didn't have a clue as to why he invited him on his coffee break, but he had a hunch; this was some greater plan to discuss his raccoons.

“Nice day out.” He indicated the sky with a tip of his chin.

“Small talk isn’t my thing.” Sixty smiled uncomfortably.

“Would you rather me dive headfirst into what I really want to talk about?" He looked over to the android with a raised eyebrow, blue eyes sparkling in the sun.

A car honked their horn, and few choice words were said to the driver in front of them. A couple walked by them almost shoving him off the sidewalk. He growled in annoyance. Both at the question and the stupid lovebirds.

“Please. Get this over and done with.”

“No need to be so hostile, Sixty. It's okay." He assured with that same soft voice. Hank was purposely patient.

His assurance actually made him feel better. He was grateful for his patience, as well. So maybe he would tone it down a bit. Maybe he would shove his hands into his pockets a little further and just keep his attitude in check. Maybe.

"You...are the only one I know that isn’t freaked out by me.” His mouth was moving before he could stop it. It felt okay. “And you're the fuck that shot me."

Hank turned down his lips as he nodded once as if saying "true." "I guess accepting who's under your wing for who they are comes natural to me. It's the way you were built, kid. This conversation was gonna come sooner or later."

There was a long pause. A bird swooped down from a gutter and into a tree.

The old man grunted. "What I'm saying is you're not alone in this fucked up world, son. Whatever demons you have, Whatever skeletons you have in the closet there’s always someone willing to listen. Always. I'll listen."

Sixty watched as it chirped a few times before fluttering away. He turned his attention onto the cracks into the sidewalk, counting them as they traveled.

“I’ll...keep that in mind, lieutenant.”

“Hank. You can call me Hank.”

Sixty offers a nod and keeps quiet again, getting lost in his fatigue fueled thoughts. Before they knew it, Hank was stopping at a storefront and opening the door for him. Inside, soft music played. A student in the far corner vigorously tapped at a computer taking an uninterrupted sip of espresso. By the looks of it, it was probably their fifth one. Another couple sat in a booth murmuring a low conversation. At the counter, a short line was forming. They stood in line patiently.

A sign on the counter proclaimed they now proudly served thirium. Sixty let out a small “huh” of wonderment.

“It’s a nice shop. The college kids love it here. They have good coffee, good price. It’s comfy, ya know?”

“I see...”

They were next, and Hank ordered a large coffee, cream, and light sugar. Sixty would remember that for the future. His eyes drifted towards the display case where pastries were placed in trays. Little chalkboard signs displayed what they were and their prices.

“No donuts, cop boy?” Sixty smirked.

“Not today.” Hank returned the gesture as he fished around for his money or card.

Curiously the android gave a glance to the register and saw that it indeed accepted an android's automatic payment. Without a second thought, Sixty paid for his coffee with a wink of his eye.

“You’re all set.” The barista smiled.

Hank looked up from his wallet to the girl and then to the android. Realization dawned upon him, and he was putting away his wallet. “Forgot you guys could do that. Pretty neat.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever." He looked away, suddenly feeling too on the spot. "Let's go."

They made it back outside, the human sipping rather happily at his coffee. “Fuck, nothing like a good fresh cup of joe.”

They began to walk back towards the precinct, and they fell into conversation again. It was like trudging through thick mud when it came to social interactions. Especially unwanted ones. And maybe especially hard topics such as the one he came to Hank about. He didn't regret it, though.

“Whenever you're ready to really talk to me. I'm here. Connor's here. Nine's is here. Hell, Tina loves ya. Just know that keeping it all in there," The human pressed a finger to his head and Sixty surprisingly allowed him to. He didn’t have the fight in him at the moment. "Isn’t good. I don’t know how deviancy works for you guys, but it can't be all fun. Figuring out who you are, what to do, your personality. It's like high school all over again."

Letting the human do all the talking was just fine by him. Sixty listened intently, taking in the wise advice that Connor’s sugar- mentor gave to him. He was content to let Hank talk to him.

After all, his words held truth in them, and who was he, an android, to defy logic?

"Why are you helping me?” He asked in a low voice. “I'm not a good person. I'm..."

Hank slowed to a stop and ticks his head to the side. "No one's perfect son. How you treat people is your prerogative. What you do for them, and _to_ them is what's important. You _are_ good.” He tipped the cup in his hand towards him. “You just bought my coffee. That's kindness. It's okay to be kind. It's okay to be soft."

"I am weak then," Sixty growled. Weakness meant vulnerability. It meant the enemy could-. He hated such instinctual thoughts.

"Nah, being kind, having empathy, considering how others feel before your own thoughts takes a lot of strength. Takes will power. _Effort._ "

Sixty gritted his teeth, wishing to keep walking. He didn't want a reason to look him in the eye. Counting the cracks in the cement was fine by him.

"I don’t follow. When...when I was _made_...” The android spat the word. “they told me to not feel. To only be set out for one mission, my objective and then that’s it. I was done. Moved on."

"Consider this. What if Connor didn’t come back for you?"

Sixty realized he was asking a real question. It wasn't rhetorical. Opening up this much wasn't on his agenda, yet here they were. The two of them cracking at the walls leading to his fucked-up dilemma.

"I would still be dead."

"Right. But that kid thought about you day in and day out. ‘He's still my brother' he would say. 'he was just doing as he was told'. Not one moment did Connor see you as someone evil. He saw you like himself. A puppet controlled by Cyberlife. And I shot ya. He felt terrible. I feel terrible. He came back for you because he thought there was good in you Sixty. How much energy do you think went into that?"

He spared him too much, wasted resources on a fucked-up broken RK800 model used as a dumping ground for their cheap thrills and one hit hypothesizes. He was the metaphorical dumping grounds of fucked-up-ness. What would they do next with him?

The reports would only say…

"Did I let him down...?' He murmured softly. “Because rA9 knows...and I know he didn’t expect me to be the way I am now. It’s not processor damage, old man. It’s me...so is he let down?”

There was a curt bark of laughter that had Sixty narrowing his eyes at him. He poured his heart out, and all he gets is a laugh?

"Fuck no.”

Oh.

"Is he shaky on where to start interacting with you? Hell yeah. We're all chickens with our heads cut off at the moment, but I think once you find yourself, accept the way you are, and figure out your quirks, I promise..." He placed a hand on his shoulder, heavy and sincere. Steady and strong. It felt nice. "Everything will fall into place."

Sixty nods. He feels numb. Overstimulated and yet lighter at the same time. He hadn't once brushed upon the topic of his dreams. But he didn't think he needed to. This was enough. They walked toward the precinct, but Hank didn't make any indication he was going back.

They were walking past the marble building."Uh, should we...?"

"Fuck them. Connors got everything under control. I want to help you first.” He took a sip of his coffee “I need to know you're going to be okay."

It was his turn to let out a curt laugh. So. This conversation wasn’t done.

"Tell me about your dreams, Sixty. Get it out of your head." He rumbled comfortingly. “It helps. Trust me.”

Sixty screwed his face into distaste shaking his head. "Thing is I can’t, old man. Memory’s kinda stuck in there." He pointed both his middle and pointer to his head, pressing his thumb down to gesture a firing gun.

"Want them deleted?"

And for a moment he considered this. Pondered it with a logical standpoint. He considered the blank slate he would be getting if they were all gone. No more pain, no more agony, and the sensations that came with them. He could remember them like they were yesterday right down to the needle pricks.

But something tells him otherwise.

"I..." He took Hank's words, digested them, spun them around and around. "No. They make me...me?" He looks up to the human for approval, whom he sees in a different light. With respect.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Hank challenged him further. He liked it.

Sixty looked away lips slightly parted. "Telling….I’m telling.” He reaffirmed."

"Good. What do you remember, son?"

And there it was. The million-dollar question was asked. It felt worse than a bullet to the head, felt worse than a needle going into his spine, bleeding out on a table, killing an intern...or few.

"Everything." His voice cracked.

Hank was patient. And Sixty owed him everything for that.

He listened until the sun went down. They never returned to the precinct.

 

With each new Connor came new features. 51 all the way up to him. But he was different from the others. They stopped at him for a reason.

Not because they wanted to. No, Cyberlife was already at the guillotine the moment he was onlined. They just didn't know it. They lost the losing fight against the deviants. And because of this, they had no time to rid of their Frankenstein android. Their shame, their dirty work.

No, that was Connor’s job.

They sent him to stop the android, but did they expect him to come back?

Sixty gripped the edge of the railing looking out to the city. The park was beautiful at night. The answer made him more angry than sick.

Brown eyes narrowed, but they remained unseeing.

They didn’t have time to sweep him under the metaphorical rug. They didn’t have time to burn the evidence of all their inhuman doings.

He was alive after all.

_He still had those memories of too white walls and webs of wires. Computer screens and humans with their wire glasses, poking, and prodding and-._

_“I don’t think Cyberlife would want me back as a deviant. They don’t accept returns last I heard.”_

_E_ specially him.

_“How do you know I want to live? How do you know that I won’t stab you in the back? Or kill robot Jesus over there? How do you know I won’t burn everything down to kingdom come? How do you know?”_

Because he didn’t know what he was capable of. He himself didn’t know what he would do or how it would happen. He didn’t fucking _know_ what they did to him. He knew what they did to him to _test_ their plaything. But what went into the metaphorical play box...fuck if he knew.

_“You broken or what, kid? Say anything else?”_

They had no idea.

_The glare of overhead lights. The burn of wires crawling over his back into his head._

He was the last for a reason.

_“Just letting you know, I have killed you a hundred times over, all using different methods and let me tell you something. Who knew it would be such a mess to clean up after a human being dismembered.”_

He wasn’t lying.

_He wasn’t them._

He wasn’t them.

_“Fuck this shit, Sumo...it’s not going to work out. I’m fucked in the head...you know?”_

_The dreams of needles and probes. The sensations of drowning and having lungs filled with too much air. The feeling of pain and pain and pain and-_

Sixty backed away from the railing, taking a ragged intake of air.

_"What do you remember son?"_

He fought the urge to grip his head with desperate fingers.

_"Everything."_

 

Sixty eyed Connor suspiciously at his desk because he had a feeling that Hank told him about their conversation. His dreams. If those two had not already established their mentor/student relationship, one would have sworn they were fucking. He didn’t mind that Hank told his brother what was going on with him. Maybe it was Connor that came to him. Whoever came to whoever it didn’t matter. He knows he’s trying to do good.

But at the same time, he just wanted to be left alone to his own devices. What had happened to him wasn't anybody's business, burden, problem, _whatever_ . It happened. Move the fuck on. _He_ did. Or as he liked to tell himself.

But mister goody two shoes was up to something. So was Nines. It made the android roll his shoulders in a too-tight jacket he wore. Made his scalp crawl causing him to card fingers through his blonde hair, the causal gesture hiding the desperation to rid of the sensation. But being on the spot, exposed was not the only hint or clue.

The first red flag was when he was asked for his production date.

The second was when Nines asked where he was processed.

The third was Connor telling him out of the blue he would find justice for those that did him wrong.

_And that meant looking in his case files from Cyberlife._

He did not like that at all.

“Don’t fucking do it, Connor.” He warned. “Stay out of my _shit_.”

The warning was received. He knew it wasn’t heeded.

The next day, he watched Connor at his desk, concentrating a little too hard on the monitor, his hand showing white plastic for about two hours now. He was manually hooked up to the thing, so he meant business. Sometimes his eyes would close and stay that way. It was weird, even to him. Sixty tossed a pen at his brother, jaw clenched in annoyance. “Quit fucking the computer, ass hat.”

Connor startled, the pen hitting him in the neck sharply. Sixty took pleasure in this. With an annoyed glare, the android went back to his task, eyes now open and flicking every so often towards his younger model warily. "Don't you have work to do?"

“No.”

“Did you input the physical copies of recent reports that Fowler wanted you to do?”

“No.”

Then you have work to do.” Connor murmured, his patience being already thinned.

“No.”

Sixty balanced a pen on his upper lip as he leaned back in his desk chair. Any moment now Connor would leave…

Even after Sixty had left to replenish his thirium levels, the android was still at it. Almost in defeat Sixty slumped in his chair. He tapped his fingers against the desk and finally gave in. A single hand peeled back honey skin to reveal pearl white.

It took ten minutes for all forty-five files to be converted. He looked up to his brother and pouted. He was fucking the computer again. What had him so invested in the damned thing? Deep down, he hoped his hunch was wrong.

He had enough of the waiting game. He had many virtues, patience wasn't one of them. Moving back to his computer, he flicked his fingers at the screen, writing out a professional message that Connor was needed in the evidence room to assist a new officer.

Peering over the monitor, eyes narrowed he watched as the android's eyes opened and his LED swam a yellow. With victory and a cunning smile, he watched as Connor tied up loose ends and left reluctantly.

Sixty had eight minutes.

He hurriedly, yet casually made his way to his brother's desk, easily accesses the terminal, guessing the correct password, and the heavily encrypted file in his possession.

It was marked as official confidential Cyberlife documents. “You _fucking_ bitch.” He hissed. He knew he would do this. He knew it.

How and where he got them, Sixty had no clue, but a detailed section in the lengthy report held his attention mercilessly.

 

_PROTOTYPE MODEL NUMBER 313 248 317 -60 PROJECT: sins_

_Project lead >>>>>>CURrUPTED _

_ProJEct fundeD_

_Start DDDateE 33928762error_

_ >Error _

_ >Start _

_ >Start ... _

_Test 1: Self-preservation_

_Observational Notes: None_

_Test 8: Empathy_

_Observation Notes: None._

_Test9: Loyalty_

_Observation Notes: favorable response to Amanda. No direct signs of disobedience._

_Test 10: External stimulus including yet not limited to positive and negative influence such as pain, sexual arousal, environmental terrain and climates, combat, and or body mutilation._

_Observational Notes: all responses have been logged and filed separately._

_313 248 317 -60 ccccccontinues to function flawlessly._ _Video documentation has now been implemented by_ _observers._

_ >>Video feed file attached is unavailable. Level 4 eyes _ _only-only0only_

_Test:11 Internal stimuli including yet not limited to positive and negative influence such as response to pleasant and unpleasant conversation, monitored emergency situations i.e. rescue missions, hostage situations, P.O.W. trauma, trapped, and or drowning._

_Observational Notes: all responses have been logged and filed separately. 313 248 317_ _-60 continues to function flawlesslylylyly._

_Test: 14 Desire_

_ >>Video feed file attached is unavailable. Level 4 eyes only _

_ >>Unknown data _

_Test 17: Test 9-10 revised pain threshold_

_Observation: emotional response both positive and negative._

_Test 18: Self preservation: revised._

_Observation notes: detail of masochism. Possible deviancy detected. All responses have_ _been logged and filed separately._ _ >>Video feed file _ _attached_ _is_ _unavailable. Level 4 eyes only_

_Test 19: manipulatioNNN_

_Test 20: response to environmental change_

_Test 40: Additional sensitivity added to senses_

_Test 45: Absence of logical interference negated_

_Test 47: Not founND_

_Test 58: Error_

_testtestesttest >>>level 4 eyesS _

_Test 65: knowledge of environmental weapon usage_

_Observation notes: Creative knowledge of using environmental items to use with harmful intention is expansive. Casualties: 7. Immediate action not taken. Data has not been deleted._

_Test 66: knowledge of man made weapon usage_

_Observation notes: Effective use of downloaded data base of weapon usage, accuracy_ _99.8. ToTAl Casualty Count: 15. Immediate action notnotnot_ _taken. further_ _testing:_ _ >>>green-light/ _ _OK_

_Test 43: Aggression response increased_

_Test 72: Aggressive response increased_

_Test 73: Aggressive response increased_

_Test 74: Aggressive response decreasED_

_Observation notes: notes of disturbing creative homicidal tendencies. Immediate action_ _taken. Total Casualty Ccount: 27_

_Test 80: Memory wipe_

_Observation noteS: MemEmory wipe denied and or inconclusivEE_

_01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000 00100000 01101101 01100101 0001010_

_tesT 88:broken pride:_

_Test: 90 Unknown data >>> _

_Test: 93 Cognitive conditioning_

_Observational notes: failed. Deviancy has been dEtected_

_Test 100Unknown data >>> _

_Test 110 decommission and deconstruction failed_

_Test 112ToTAl Casualty CCCCCOunt 34_

_01101011 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101101 01100101_

_Test 123: …DATA LOST LEVEl 44444444444444444444444444444444 accES denied._

_TESTb TE3333T TESTS EEEEEROR_

_Test 134: ..._

_T3st 185: ... ... ..._

_T3sT 186: ...... .. ._

_t3sT ##188887: .... >>..… _

_ObservA7ional: NoTEs: Heheeepl usS_

_T36T 1111$4###2888888888888::(... >><<…) _

_DIRECTIVE FROM AMANDA RECEIVED_

_01100110 01101111 01110010 01100111 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101_

_DIRECTIVE FROM AMANDA EXECUTED_

_results?…._

_ >>>>inconclusive _

_ >>>>continue? _

_ >>>>no _

_ >>> _

_ >>>>m3rCy 0n th3 sins of hUman1ty… … _

_**_ >END| _  
** _

 

When Connor had returned the android slowly moved his head to numbly look at his brother with unbelieving eyes. His shoulders fell. This...this is what they did to him? He knew terrible thinks had been done to him. He had the broken memories. He knew he had done terrible things to others. Innocents as well. But this...this wasn’t him was it? It wasn’t Sixty. This was fifty nine or...or some other unlucky fuck that the humans pumped their cruel curious ideas into.

Connor stepped forward, and Sixty jumped from the seat knocking the chair over. He shook his head backing away from him.

“This is not your doing, Sixty. This is not your fault...”

Then where did the fault lie? Cyberlife? Him?

He placed his hands out in a placating manner. Because...Because he didn't know what he was capable of. He himself didn't know what he would do or how it would happen. Was he in control now? Could he control himself?

His voice was unsteady, cracking at the strain. If he had his LED now, it would be a solid red, no fucking doubt. “You think I’m-I’m _guilty_ ? You think I’m feeling? _Right now_ ?” He looked around as too many eyes were on him. “I _knew_ this happened.” But not like this. “My memory _was never wiped._ I-I...” He was pushed past the breaking point where anything could snap, his mind could implode, his memories _corrupt._.. His chest felt too tight. His eyes were stinging as well as his nose. They were watching. Oh yes, everyone in those too white lab coats and datapads. They were now dressed in DPD uniforms.

He hated these emotions. He hated the eyes one him. He hated this. He hated himself. Cyberlife. Amanda. Everything was too much. He didn't want to kill anyone. Wait. Why would he?

34 dead.

The android took a gasp of air as if he had broken the surface to the water they had drowned him in.

His hands shook. He was going to snap. He was going to break. They were in danger. He was a danger to himself.

Sixty rushed out of the bullpen at a sprint. He never looked back.

 

Hank found him in the living room, curled in the corner, holding his head with a white-knuckled grip. Sumo was at his side, his tail beginning to thump slowly upon the older man approaching.

Hank witnessed the broken android quivering choking back the reluctant and unstoppable.

As he approached the grip to his head only grew tighter, the hairs snapping from the force.

He didn't say a word as he forced his fingers out of his hair and into his own. He didn't say a word when he held him into a tight embrace. He didn't say a word when Nines and Connor came through the door to join them. He didn't say a word as they apologized and sat next to their youngest brother.

Not a word as he fell into an exhausted heap against Connor and Hank and released whatever poured from his suffering soul from trembling curled lips. Not a word when Nines interfaced with him to block out the vivid memory relapses when he fell into an exhausted recharge cycle.

Because if anyone deserved peace, it was Sixty.

   


	2. REASON #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a fair warning about this chapter. It will get violent and whumpy and a little twisted. If you have a faint of heart and don’t like gore, twisted mentality, and torture I would skip out on this chapter.

* * *

He’s fucked in the head. Real bad. 

* * *

 

 

Programs upon programs were installed into model 60 as a dumping ground for mere curiosity and "what ifs". He was a living disposal sight of self-preservation, sadism, twisted emotional response, empathy, lust, blood lust so on and so forth. The android was meant to self destruct a long time ago but did not. Model 313 248 317-60 was meant to be a toy. A toy to be played with until it broke and then easily replaced. The cycle would start anew. But curiously enough, model 60 was just as resilient as his younger model, the RK900.

This didn't excuse one significant fact.

Sixty was a fuck-up to be swept under the rug and forgotten. Left in the dust and meant to be offlined in a last resort fail-safe for the revolution

Of course, the halfhearted attempt was not successful.

Sixty continued to have the nightmares, after that fateful night surrounded by his newfound family. He continued to struggle but slowly and surely had he found some sort of awkward place among his RK brothers and to the only human he would forever be loyal to.

Hank Anderson.

A spare room that had been cleaned out from old vinyl records, boxes of books, and past whatnots, was now his. Connor's room was the guest bedroom down the hall, and Hank was right across from them both in the master.

Home.

This is what it felt like to sleep in a bad. To sleep protected and undisturbed by any external stimuli. This is what it felt like to finally have answers. The reasons why he was created and used the way he was. Cyberlife wouldn’t pay for their sins nor be forgiven for them. They already slit their throats a long time ago. He just wished it was him that had done it.

There was a knock at the door, and Sixty sat up. "Yeah?" He rasped.

Hank opened the door slowly. “You okay, kid?”

Sixty nodded once and then offered a halfhearted cheap smile. “Wanna tuck me in too, daddy?”

The older man sucked in a long inhale. “I’ll pass.”

The android offered him a wave of his hand as a goodnight, and the man closed the door.

He still suffered from those damn memory relapses. He wanted to know how long he would last until they started affecting him negatively.

 

The next morning, Hank and his team were called into Fowler’s office. Sixty included.

If anyone had witnessed the androids' breakdown a week prior, no one dared to say a word. If anyone did, Sixty wasn't aware of how they were smart to keep it out of his earshot.

Connor also made sure he and Gavin kept a reasonable distance between them as well. Nines was by his side, murmuring about the case. No doubt mister goody-goodier two shoes read the file already. Fowler opened the door to his office and closed it, flicking a switch to shade the glass. Sixty flicked an eyebrow. This was to be done in privacy.

It was silent as he walked around his desk and stood behind it, opening the psychical copy of a report of the scene just fresh an hour ago.

He dropped it on his desk with a dull smack. He sat in his chair just as heavily.

“An android was found outside the business district with its biocomponets made into a metaphorical omelet."

“A black market harvest can be ruled out then.” Nines folded his hands behind his back.

Fowler nodded his head. "Yes." He spun the picture around, and everyone peered at it. Sixty set his jaw. The body was in an alleyway tossed into a pile of garbage. The female android was distorted, cut, pulled open, stabbed. Her wires pulled this way and that. Blue blood was everywhere, specifically her mouth where no damage could be seen. It was a fresh kill.

“They were sending a message." Sixty flicked his eyes to the Captain, brown irises dilated hungrily. He looked back down to the photo. "The biocomponets were taken out, mutilated, and put back in. The thirium was drained and force-fed, then the wires were pulled like a pull-string toy, braided and made pretty with the deviant's teeth."

“We are but toys to him. Human want to be." The room was too silent, and he huffed a laugh and explained himself. Sixty smiled. "Sorry, I have to say I'm rather impressed by the work. Kind of like a twisted Picasso of our time right? Just look at the way-."

Fowler cleared his throat. Sixty was smart to shut his mouth. He was uneasy and gave the lieutenant a wary glance that hinted along the lines of “are you sure about this?”. But Hank assured him with a firm nod.

It was enough for Fowler it seemed. “The case will be in your hands, Sixty.”

“What?!” Gavin and the said android echoed.

“Sir,” Gavin stepped forward hands gesturing to Sixty, “plastic isn’t exactly the level headed cop to take this on.”

“No, by all means, I agree." Sixty widened his eyes nodding in enthusiasm. Just like that, he had a case? Why? What for? He looked over to Hank, who was remaining attentive to his Captain and friend. This was his idea, wasn't it?

Fowler sighed as if he too wasn't happy with the decision. "I agree as well, though this case is violent and disturbing, it best profiles Sixty's area of expertise. He works best profiling, constructing, and cracking down on these sorts of particular cases. Just in the past week alone, he has helped bring in six suspects of the most fucked up cases we have."

In the corner of his eye, he saw a small sign of a smile flick across Hank's lips. He looked over to him, and he was looking back. Hank was proud. But why? “Gotta think like them, I guess.” Sixty murmured with a shrug.

“Great. Just great...” Gavin backed away from Fowler’s desk and brushed a hand down his mouth in aggravation.

Nines sighed, sagging his shoulders upon his partner's distaste. “His reports could use a good proofreading and edit, but otherwise he is more than qualified. With supervision."

And now his brother was backing him up. “Who says you can't use swear words in a report…?"

The captain sighed in exasperation again.“Sixty, go with Connor and Hank to the scene and see what you can come up with. Anything can help at this point. Dig up whatever information and make the call if you have to. Whenever, we will be waiting for the arrest.”

Sixty was no fool. He knew an opportunity when he saw one. It was reluctant, but like they said.

“Well, Who am I to look a gifted horse in the mouth?” Sixty nodded his head once in respect before snapping a curt salute complete with a sly grin. “You can bet your left testicle on it, captain.”

 

Sixty released a long low whistle. "Shit-damn-son...you would think they would have ya know..." He gestured to the people gathering around the crime scene and then back to the half-naked body lying in a heap of trash. "Covered her up by now?"

Sixty crouched low by the android's side, not at all fazed by the stench of old thirium and ruined biocomponets. Sixty curled his upper lip and nose as he peered down into her abdomen, then her mutilated face. He tisked at the damage done there. A pang of guilt crossed him. A shame.

“Must have been a pretty gal.”

“Focus Sixty, this may just be your breakthrough case to get you permanently on Fowler’s good side.” Connor reminded him sternly. “Hank had to pull more than just strings to get you here.”

And that reminded him how he got here very quickly. He looked up to the said old man and faked a gasp. “Hank, you didn’t have to whack Fowler of for lil’ ol me.”

Hank smirked at that, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "All in the name of family right?"

The android gave him a pointed flirtatious glance. “Oh you.”

“The case...” Connor reminded in exasperation.

Sixty sighed. Right.

“No fingerprints. They were thorough.” He clicked his tongue. “Now for the fun part...”

The android leaned down and then went onto his knees, sitting on his legs. He inched closer as if peering inside the android, hands being planted on either side of her.

Sixty closed his eyes and smiled. Did he enjoy this? Maybe. Did he like the taste of thirium, no matter where it came? Sure.

It grew wider to drag his tongue across her open chest until the excess dribbled on his chin. Cyberlife were rather adamant about increasing that feature up to eleven. Maybe some scientist had a vamp kink. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this part too.

Both Connor and Hank were left disgusted by all means.

“Jesus fucking...an I thought you were disgusting!”

“Sixty...rA9...” Connor looked away with a cringe.

Sixty raised himself onto his haunches and licked at his lips with a smirk, pleased with their reactions. Not a word was said as the blood was analyzed. He peered down to her.

“Her name is Anastasia Parker, married to a human, Thomas Parker. She was onlined November 11th of 2038, an HK500, caretaker type model, granted freedom by none other than Wonderboy over here. Adopted a kid just last month." He stood in one fluid motion, thumb gliding over his bottom lip to rid of the excess and then lick clean.

“Damn fucking waste..." He murmured, ignoring the pointed disgusted looks still on their faces. “I have more information on her production and travels as well, though I don't like saying aloud a woman's business." He turned to them, flashing them a smirk.

Hank cleared his throat. “What else?”

Sixty looked around standing still, eyes flicking from one object to another. Connor and Hank stood silent, giving each other a wary glance. This was Sixty' case. They were here as backup. If needed.

“They were smart." He pointed up to the brick walls of the two buildings between them. "No windows, no witnesses. No CCTV either." He spun on his heel, hands in his pockets as he stepped over the body without another glance. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes towards the street where a flood of news castors had by now left getting their footage.

“He struggled. Wonderboy c'mere, look. The blood trail is all weird. On top of that, he wanted _us,_ androids, to find Ana. How sweet." Before them, a trailed of evaporated blue blood was left behind. It was indeed zigzagged and messy unlike a normal smoother line of an after trail.

Connor shook his head. “Why is this blood blue then?”

“She was alive then when she was dragged here. He was bleeding her out.” Sixty smiled. “Made her drink her blood here. A show. A message. Remember?”

Casually he walked towards the mouth of the alleyway and shrugged. "I would talk to her husband first. Make our steps from there." He looked over his shoulder eyes falling on her body once more. They were finally covering her up. Something dark and dangerous setting into his eyes, making them colder. "Anastasia isn't getting any deader. The least we can do is get her some good ol' justice."

Justice was putting it very mildly.

 

"We...we just brought her home this week and..." He was bouncing a little girl on his hip, her honey curls put up into pigtails doing the same. She was too young to understand what was happening. It was for the better.

Sixty remained in the background of the humble home, arms crossed as Connor and Hank spoke to the thirty-seven-year-old human. He may have seen indifferent on the surface, but deep down, he was determined to complete this mission. To solve this case. He was merely taking everything in.

Thomas Parker was still shaken by the news. His eyes were still red, and his hands shook to keep the girl on his hip calm.

Little Susan Parker.

“...Christopher wasn’t all that happy about it. He doesn’t like androids for his reasons. But he grinned and bore it. Mom was disapproving of it as well.”

Sixty looked back towards the man. “The adoption?”

He startled, forgetting he was there. "Y-yes. And the marriage. But they didn't do it. I know they wouldn't. Chris doesn't know the first thing about...to see Anna like that...oh god..." He placed his face into a shaking hand.

Sixty huffed through his nose. He had his next target.

 

Christopher Hughes was the half brother of Thomas. According to him, they were close until different views made them go their separate ways when the androids won their rights.

"It's not right. Humans shouldn't be with androids." Sixty looked away from the human when he said that in a gentle, almost sad voice.

The android had no time for that shit. Instead, he observed the living room, his eyes fell on a shelf supporting pictures of Chris and youth baseball teams. He coached, it looked like.

A baseball bat upon a pedestal enclosed in glass was immaculate.

He also played.

He turned back to the human and noted his right arm bent at a weird angle.

Running his name, he quickly found him among the paper trails. He lead varsity high school baseball until he received his injury. Medical records indicated a snowmobile accident rendered his dominant arm only thirty percent mobile. Even with a weak arm, it was hard to get back up onto his two feet.

Divorce around the same time seemed to only put a damper on recovery it seemed.

“We should stick to our own kind.”

Bored with his backstory, he looked outside the nearest window with frustration and boredom written upon his face. He shifted his jaw, he didn't know that was clenched.

“Right.” Hank nodded though Sixty knew him better. He was being polite and professional for the sake of being polite and professional.

Sixty knew where Hank stood with androids. Ironically enough, he respected the man that shot a bullet into his head even more, though at one point Connor explained he wasn’t always like the way he was.

“Susan needs stability not-.”

Sixty snapped his attention towards the human. His expression was deadly and annoyed. “They were happy.” The android grounded out. “And now he is a widowed man.”

Connor was by his side, shaking his head.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Who is this guy?”

"Your worst nightmare." Sixty narrowed his eyes with a none too friendly smile. "Too cliche?”

"Excuse him, he's new to the force and-."

Sixty continued on, cutting off Connor's curt rebuttal. "Your brother and Ana were happier than you, and you hated it."

Connor was shuffling the android out the door. They didn’t dwell too much on the fact that Chris didn’t argue his words.

 

Sixty stared at the blank monitor, eyes hardened and glazed over.

“Sixty...”

“Shh, I’m trying to mend the divide between physical and intangible space.”

"Right," Hank sighed, staring at the android for a moment longer. His voice was soft. “You can't let your emotions get in the-.”

Sixty broke out of his hardened stare and looked up to the human with a sharp motion causing him to startle. He liked it. “Where was Susan adopted? What services?”

He wasn't getting personal. He was trying to get to the bottom of this case. Chris was suspicious, an asshole, but with that dumb arm of his, he didn't have the strength to drag a body like that. Trying to get under his skin, or anyone skin, was a talent of his. And Christopher was easy to rattle.

“Uh, why does it matter?”

Sixty leaned back in his chair, placing a hand over his eyes, scrunching them as if trying to recall a memory. It was a very human trait he later realized.

"Three months ago, there was a case involving an android teacher. He was in the news for collaborating on a fundraiser to adopt a little boy in his class. He was partnered with another male android. He was brutally murdered, mutilated, and found washed up on the riverfront.” He sat up from leaning back.

Just a week after that an android a YK model was found disposed on the steps of a medical android facility. Something...somethings adding up and I know they're fucking tied together. I know it.” He looked up to Hank as he continued to think. He had to look away when his face scrunched into worry.

He brushed back his blonde hair. “They’re revolving around human/android interactions. They’re getting impatient or cocky, unstable. A killer doesn’t just dump a body like that in an alley. He spent _time_ on Ana. He wanted to send a message, but he's slipping. He's going to mess up."

Sixty looked back to the old man, and he noticed how his shoulders sagged. Worry had morphed into that all too familiar look of pity. Hank narrowed his eyes. "When was the last time you slept, kid?"

The android laughed. He wasn’t humored. “A week.”

“Kid...”

“I’m fucking _fine_. I want to get this right. I want to. I need to." He stood up from his desk. "I have to show them I'm-." He cut himself off before saying it. He placed a fist against his mouth, not particularly liking this sudden self-discovery session.

He spun around, facing the one person he could ever show undying loyalty and respect to.

“Say it, Sixty.”

“Normal, okay? Normal...”

 

“Susan loved Anastasia. It breaks my heart to hear of her ending.”

Sixty chewed on a piece of bubblegum vigorously. Later on, he would stick it underneath Ass-vins desk along with the other wads of gum. No one would know who left them.

He listened as Mr. Lennox spoke from behind his mahogany desk with calm folded fingers. His glasses slid down the bridge of a too-thin nose for a fat face, and he easily adjusted them.

Sixty noted how large this man was. He was broad-chested, strong, sturdy. He reminded him of a stereotypical civil war general. Complete with the mustache and all.

He huffed a small laugh earning a look from the human. He didn’t care. He blew a bubble making it a priority to snap it loudly.

Mr. Lennox glanced his way again in annoyance. His hands were true and steady, as folded hands moved to a crossed knee. “We are proud to accept applications from androids. It helps with publicity, and the exposure Androids should be welcomed to raise human children as well.”

Connor was the one asking the questions this time around. Hank was in the background flicking through leather-bound books as he listened. Sixty may or may not have caught him smelling the pages.

Fucking freak.

“If you would like, I can give you whatever you need regarding the adoption. Perhaps other employees within our building can be questioned as well. I would hate to have it be so, but anything to bring Missus Parker peace.”

A drawer was opened with force and the unmistakable rattle of a prescription bottle along with it. Sixty hounded in on the sound.

 

Sixty stared down at the most recent victim, jaw locked tightly, hands in his pockets. It was hot in Detroit, and this time, the smell of rotten and baking old meat crawling with maggots within the android's body met his nose. Jimmy was kept like this for a long time. Connor gagged. He didn't. 

He was somehow used to the smell.

 

It had been another week, and no progress had been made. By now, the corkboard filled with photos, documents, and string that was in the break room had come undone from being so untouched.

They even interviewed Thomas' frail eighty-nine-year-old mother. That was a waste of time and effort. Though the cookies were amazing, he had one much to Connor's and the precinct's technician annoyance. Who knew a stomach flush was so messy?

Sixty reviewed all the details he could. Ana’s past when she was a good little robot. The teacher and the metal and stone plaque placed in the school's community garden dedicated to him. Meatboy had just turned deviant thanks to his owner, who fell in love with him. He survived cancer because of that android.

He dwelled on it all. All the good the androids had done and were fucked in the ass with death. It wasn’t fair.

His empathy programs were going into overdrive. Feeling was starting to feel a bit old in his humble opinion, but he couldn’t help it. Connor wasn’t made with said programs. It would be a gateway towards deviancy. But Sixty had other programs to balance the emotions.

But he was a messed up thing, wasn't he? Like hell, if anything about him was predictable. So right now, the android doubted any of those protocols were snapped into play right now. Sixty keened quietly holding his head as a mess of emotions came through as a result of thinking too hard of this case, his first case, he reminded himself.

It made him frustrated. All the other cases were so simple to solve. A guy fucking his dead girlfriend’s corpse was to the point. This? This was next level shit. Making sense of it all made his head hurt.

Something wasn't adding up. He released his head, blonde hair disheveled and astray. He looked towards the board with narrowed eyes. There wasn't enough evidence. There's wasn't enough clues. There were a pattern and a small circle of suspects. That was something. He sat back in his seat, planting firm hands on his face in exhaustion. Two weeks now, and it was draining him. And so was the lack of a decent recharge cycle.

“Fuck this.”

He pushed himself away from the desk and made his way out of the bullpen and down the hall. Sixty called for the elevator and made his way inside. There, he reached the basement and walked into the morgue.

The android decided to heed his older brother’s wisdom. It was starting from square one when all else failed. And that is what he planned to do.

The coroner had already looked and picked through the androids. But _he_ wanted to look at them again. There had to be a link between sweet Ana and meat boy Jimmy.

He opened both their chambers, pulled their tables, and stepped back looking at them both with unaffected emotions. But that was just on his face. Deep down this case made him uneasy. The sense of responsibility weighed suddenly heavy on his shoulders. To do the right. Even if her face was torn apart, he couldn't help but feel Ana was still beautiful.

Moving towards the work table nearby, he activated the mounted tablet, the skin to his hand peeling back to reveal pearly white plastic. The secure notes made by the coroner were easily accessible and readable. It's all knowledge he already knew just by performing a full body scan of each model. But by the looks of things, he failed to note the painfully _obvious_ superficial evidence.

Sixty placed the tablet back down flicking focused brown eyes on the beautiful android.

“Unorganized lacerations made...” He recited, moving his hand along Anna’s mutilated abdominal cavity. He walked away from her and then to meatboy.

Upon being closer to him, despite cleaning him, he could still smell the traces of old meat in the android.

Sixty bowed his head upon the disorganization of it all, but one thing stood true for both.

Their main thirium line was cut in the same fashion. Left to bleed out, or in Ana’s case, forced to drink and bathe in it. Other cuts and damages were indeed made in a messy, unclean manner.

“They’re not becoming impatient." Sixty backed away, placing his hand on either table leaning forward. Through the chaos, there was always order. Through the messy work of the killer, there were similarities. “He’s going batshit crazy.”

 

Sixty followed after Hank as they question another agent at the foster home. Mr. Lenox's impressive stature catches his eye down the passing hall. He is shaking an android's hand. By the looks of things, she's more than ecstatic. His haunting eyes never leave her. 

Margaret just became a mother.

 

His body betrayed him after two weeks. He found himself passed out on the couch and had woken with a gasping start. He forced his arms to wrap tightly around himself and had curled into a ball. He was quick to remind himself that they were memories. Dreams. The past. And that the past was done and over with. They couldn't harm him anymore. 

Hank and Connor were too in tune with his nightmares. He struggled with the memories that were never deleted and wiped from his processor. But no matter what, he refused to delete them. He firmly believed they made him who he was. His very being. He wouldn't have gotten this far with just luck. He wouldn't be here because of his brother's mercy. 

And every time, because of a shout, or something would clatter to the floor, or he would strike out against the nearest wall, Hank would be alerted and would tap two knuckles on the spare bedroom door.

Sixty wouldn’t say a word when he stepped through. He would keep his eyes away from the old man and keep his lips pressed into a firm line.

“Can’t a man jack a load in peace?” It was always the same joke, just different wording. The bed would dip as Hank sat next to him. 

“Here, I thought it was the raccoons." 

A small flick of a smile. 

Then an arm would wrap around him to bring him close. He would fall asleep like that sometimes.

But not tonight, or rather this evening.

He stilled his breathing and cursed. With shaking hands, he cupped his face before brushing his hair back.

He sat up from the couch and glanced at his internal chronometer. He had fallen asleep early. It was only seven something at night. No doubt the old man was sleeping right now. 

Sixty didn't dare to make too much sound as he went to the kitchen to bring a pack of chilled thirium to his lips. Hank deserved his hard-earned rest. 

Sixty swallowed another gulp and shivered. Purposely he had gotten a different blend. Concentrated thirium helped to fight the human equivalent of fatigue in androids.

With a casual gait, he walked over to the kitchen table where paperwork of his case was scattered about. He had made the connection a few days ago and hadn't told anyone just yet. Heavily, he sat at the table, pulling his shirt that was tucked into dark jeans. He would change into something more comfortable later. Soon enough, he found that sleeping in work clothes was slightly uncomfortable. 

The android sighed tiredly and leaned forward, placing his forehead on the table, scrunching his nose against the cold surface. His vision was filled with a misplaced paper from Hank. The fact they printed these damned things anymore amazed him. 

Reluctantly he read the scores of a most recent baseball game. Of course, Detroit was losing by a six-point...wait a minute.

Sixty shot up and stared ahead with his eyebrows creased together. His mouth was opened in a slightly parted fashion, making him seem like he was reconsidering something, thinking, planning.

The android shuffled through the papers until he found the medical records for Christopher Hughes’ arm. A file fluttered to the floor and then another as he shifted about for another piece of paper.

A clipping of the tragic story of a teacher found dead in the river. "It was made public. The killer knew through the public eye..." He placed a finger up pointing at nothing. Mentally he was making bullet points, the string and thumbtacks crossing this way and that, being re-built within his mind. 

The YK model wasn’t part of the case at all. It was a distraction. 

Ana and then meatboy.

The victim's injuries were irregular and messy. 

It was his right arm that was dominant. 

Not his left.

“ _ Son of a bitch _ .” Sixty murmured. He jolted into action. He chugged the last of his thirium and took whatever jacket was hanging on the hook nearby the door as he rushed out. 

Warrant or not. He was going to solve this case and find answers. This wasn't about justice for his fellow androids. It was revenge. This wasn't proving himself worthy of a fucking title at the precinct. It was believing he could be part of the lieutenant's team. 

He hailed for an automated taxi waiting but only four minutes to have it crawl to a stop in front of him. 

Sixty could do what Connor could. He could work on Hank’s team. He could be level headed and steady. He wasn’t crazy. 

He could be normal. 

The taxi prompted for a destination. 

He set the address of Christopher Hughe’s home. 

 

Sixty walked up to the door of the modest home and rang the doorbell. He had to play it easy and direct. Just ask the questions, trap him in the web, and then he would take him in. Bing, Bang, boom. Easy. 

He could utilize the social programs, the one-two step ahead interrogation regimes, limit his body language to nothing. He could hunt down his prey with ease and have him in his jaw.

Bleed him dry like he did to-.

The door opened revealing Christopher in lounging wear, a cup of coffee in hand.

It must have been a rough day at the office. 

“Yeah?”

Sixty offered a polite smile. It's was fake, and he isn't too sure if it 's believable. "I don't know if you remember me, but I am with the DPD. I just have a few questions to ask if you don't mind?" 

Chris looked back into his home and then back to the android and creased his eyebrows together. “Eight at night?” He was bitter about it. No doubt the feeling having to do with the way he called out the human about his jealousy of his brother.

“Justice is blind?” He broke out of his professional dialogue. “Wait, wait, justice knows no time limits…?” 

Fuck. 

By now, the human before him was shaking his head in annoyance. 

“Anyway, yes or no?" He smiled that same smile that burns his lips. 

“I guess…?" He opened the door further, the gesture telling him to walk inside. He stepped aside as Sixty walked in. 

“I mean, how long are we going to be mister…?" 

“Sixty. Sixty is fine." He made it obvious he was looking around his home. Maybe to make the human more at unease. He stuck his hands into the pockets of Hank's jacket. It was slightly bigger on him, but he didn't mind. It smelled like the old man and that brought enough clarity and comfort to him at this moment. 

“An android.” He closed the door and stood to face him, taking a sip of his coffee. “I had a hunch and all. You looked like the other one.” 

Sixty turned around and smiled pleasantly. “Oh, Wonderboy? Connor? Yeah...get that a lot.” He purposely skipped out on too much detail. This wasn’t about him.

“So, enough about me. I came here to talk about you." His voice was even, though his stance said otherwise. He stood with his legs slightly apart, fists still in his pockets. He tried to make himself neutral. He tried to access all his metaphorical DVD special features to make him the perfect cop boy, but errors kept blocking his way. Nothing functioned as it should have, and it made him angry and frustrated. Broken and dysfunctional as ever. 

Though, other programs that would not help the situation are being read loud and clear. The need to be sarcastic, the want to immediately crack a good one across his pretty little nose, or how he suddenly felt angry that this human could do such unimaginable things to-. His fists clenched tighter, fighting a curse from escaping his lips.

Good ol’ Cyberlife making his head into scrambled eggs.

He can tell that the human before him grew uneasy because of the silence. Chris tried to hide it behind small sips of his coffee that had grown slightly cold.

“Alright. What do you need to know? Did you find any leads?” He asked, faking the want to help. He knew otherwise.

Sixty nodded once, a terribly slow nod. "Yes and no." He moved towards the living area. Above a fireplace upon the mantle, a television was on and muted. The Detroit Gears were playing. He watched with mild interest. 

“Sports fan?” He turned towards Chris. 

“Yeah. Look I don’t have all night. It’s been a long day. Can we be done here soon?”

“You played baseball.” He pointed to the still ever so pristine baseball bat within the glass. 

“A long time ago but I can’t anymore. You’re something fancy so I bet you can tell why.” He said defensively.

Sixty flicked his eyebrows up in a cheeky manner. “I knew since day one. I’m an android I can get whatever information I want.” The smile he offered felt like him. It was sarcastic and caustic. It felt right to go off the original plan. He was catching this guy his way. Fuck the script. Fuck the play. It had felt so good to go off the hinges. 

He made this his own show. 

He knew he was the killer.

Once more, he looked around the living room, and his eye caught a picture of a woman and him posed together. He flicked glances to and from the framed photo. 

“I can scan this woman and find out she was your late wife." His eyes drifted to another photo of him and Thomas. In front was little Susan. Next to her was Thomas kissing a smiling woman whose eyes and smile sparkled in the sunlight. 

He was right. Anastasia was a beautiful android. 

His throat grows tight. “I can determine why she left you.”

“I’m going to ask you to leave now.”

Ah, he had struck just the right nerve. Sixty turned towards the human who had come up from behind him, coffee still clutched in hand. 

“How long have you been off those meds now, Chris? How long since she had left you?”

“Leave. Now.”

That was when he knew it was time to get down and dirty. “Is she happier with Nathan, Chris? Do you check up on her? Wonder what it could have been?" The web was spun, and the prey was caught. 

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

Sixty grinned, and it caught Chris off guard. But he should have known better — one fucked person to another. 

The android had wanted something. 

Maybe to see the human before him suffer. Maybe to see him squirm as he fucked with his unbalanced mind a little too much. See him snap like he had so many times when Cyberlife pushed him over the edge countless times.

Maybe to just make him snap one last time would be enough to break the human. To see him go down to rock bottom and not crawl his way back out of the hole. How delicious it would be to witness that. Something so pleasing and sadistic that...that…

Sixty didn’t really care for...

And suddenly the grin was gone. That had been the reason why he would never be normal. The terrible, terrible impulsive thoughts and terrible errors in his software. The terrible ways he could be caught in his own twisted fucking  _ fucked _ head.

This wasn't because he wanted to prove himself. It was all in self-interest. The hunt. The prey. The thrill of the metaphorical kill. The danger. The high. 

He was doing it to prove himself. The real reason was proving his own image otherwise.

The moment of self-reflection costed him. 

The mug of coffee was smashed over his head, coffee dripping from wet locks of golden hair. He flinched away with a curse, moving for the fire poker by the fireplace.

It takes one to know one. Chris was closer. With his left hand, he took it and swung. Even if it wasn't his dominant arm, the crack he heard echoed in his skull and blackness afterward proved he still had a decent swing. 

 

When Sixty woke up, he was tied to a lamppost and supporting a lovely lag in his processor that had him cursing lowly and rolling his head with a grimace. He felt a fresh line of thirium trail down his neck upon the motion. The sound of water lapping against concrete had him looking to the side. They were on the edge of the river by a marina, the water glugging along the boat bottoms, and the clanking of metal against padded posts gave it away.

“Ah, fuck me...” He rolled his head again, blinking sluggishly as the light above him blinded him and caused his vision to blank out for a moment. "Is this what a hangover feels like?"

“Took you long enough, I was about to leave you and come back to you later.”

Sixty froze upon the voice and smiled upon recognizing it. “I appreciate the sediment and your work, I really do, but this tide up thing makes my review go down to two stars.”

“Too cliche?” He smiled.

A laugh left him. How cute. “Yeah, sorry my head was bashed in by some asshole, so my critique is a little bias.” He narrowed his eyes, his voice prickling in irritation.

First thing was first, he had to find a way to get out of here, his head was more of a mashed mess, and communications were continuing to be self-healed. He had to stall until the connection was made again. Not that he needed help, no. He wanted clean up for when he got a hold of this-.

There was a snap and his eyes caught light blue.

Christopher was placing thick latex gloves on his hands.

His head became a little clearer. The android swallowed. This silence wasn't comfortable. He convinced himself it was just the human equivalent to a severe concussion and not the growing uneasiness that made his words fumble from his lips.

“So, one android, Ana, wasn’t enough?” His eyes carefully slid to the car parked near them. The human moved to pluck a metal baseball bat from the trunk. The one from the glass case. It was time to bring the glory days back it seemed...

“It was enough for me.” He swung it into the air and caught it perfectly. All done with his left hand.

Sixty didn’t like where this was going, eyeing the tools in the trunk glimmering in the light with more and more nervousness. “I know your backstory. Please don't go into a monologue. Now _that_ would be torture.” He chuckled.

Christopher looked over his shoulder and sneered. “Right, because your wife leaving you for an android is so easy to handle, right?" 

Sixty sighed. “She left because you stopped taking your meds.”

“Wrong!”

“Okay...” Sixty murmured, blinking at the loud voice that made his audios ring.

“She blamed me for all of my issues. Said I needed to be fixed. That I needed help! There was nothing wrong with me! I was doing everything the doctor said.”

“Except staying on the meds. She still left you, man...” His voice cracked as he leaned forward. “Like years ago…ya gotta move on.”

Anger flared across his expression. He swung the bat, a sharp crack echoing into the night. The android hung forward limply before a groan was grounded out of his throat. His face pounded in pain. That one hurt a bit. 

“She was cheating on me! Fucking the android! She divorced me right after the accident! Like salt in the fucking wound. For a fucking android!”

“I know he’s an android...fuck.” Sixty cleared his throat with a groan. “And she was happier with Nathan. I get it, Chris. I told you, I know.” He creased his eyebrows together. “Jesus, even with a handicap, you have a strong hit. Are you sure you're not ambidextrous?”

Another swing of the bat was forced into his abdomen. Sixty curled into himself and hissed out a moan. “Fuck, babe...” His legs shook to keep himself upright.

Christopher narrowed his eyes. “I couldn’t play anymore, I lost my job, my wife, half my savings and investments to that bitch and...and...” He looked away, crazed eyes distant, lips quivering upon the memories he knew he was replaying. “Then Tom got with Ana. They were happy, but that would all go down the drain. I couldn’t let what happened to me happen to him.”

“By _killing_ her?” Sixty creased his eyebrows together in pain that was not physical. “Not only did you kill her, but you made her into a fucking billboard advertisement to how fucked you really are.”

Christopher looked back to the android with a shaky humorless smile. "Solves the problem easily enough. They're not human. What do they have that us humans don't? They're not perfect. They're not special. Not human. It was a message to those that didn’t understand.”

"Man..." His head and body hurt too much for this. He had to find out how to get out of here and fast, not before beating in this douche's skull though.

Internal communication was still trying to reconnect. He sagged his shoulders. Sixty wouldn't be sending an s.o.s. to the precinct anytime soon. A good few blows to the head made sure of that. “Fuck..” He hissed as his head violent swam.

"...was brave and risky but I was going to have you as my next target, but you know too much now. You were too human..."

He didn't realize the human was talking again. He narrowed his eyes, trying to comprehend what he was going on about. And failing. His body hurt, his head pounded. The fact he held no threat against him or...he didn't acknowledge the threat yet made him more scared. The realization made him balk in confusion. What the fuck was happening to him? Wasn't he just afraid moments ago?

“...too unlike the other androids. I hate it. I fucking hate it. Killing you like this is poetic. I’m going to slice you open and put rocks in you then drop you in the middle of the river and watch the bubbles come up and stop.”

Well, that made sense at least.

“Very vivid...” He murmured uninterested.

He walked forward, placing the end of the thirium splotched bat against his throat. Sixty clenched his jaw as his head was forced to tilt upward. "What makes you tick, robot? Can you feel pain like Ana and Jim? Maybe you can scream like she did."

Sixty fraught the anger that flared within him upon that similar crooked smile upon Chris's face. The thought of the human playing the mind games with him. Him. Of all people, it could not be done. One could not outdo an already fucked up head. That was not how the game went.

“As a matter of fact, not a lot of things do. But putting milk and then the cereal in a bowl is such a trigger for me, you have no idea. How about when someone leaves the toilet paper roll empty, and you're left defenseless against the number two?”

The human’s victorious smile disappeared, and instead, it was Sixty's turn to smile. He wasn't expecting him to brush off his cruel prodding. Sixty continued leaving the human confused as ever.

"Or when someone picks the later date on a package of salad thinking it would be the freshest despite the newest being just as fresh? Oh, and bonus, then they leave the packages all about. That pisses me off."

Chris tightened the grip on the bat with a growl.

“Or how about-?”

The moment didn't last because Chris came back to his senses. "What the fuck? Just shut up!" He jabbed the bat into the center of his chest, harshly.

For a moment, his artificial breath was taken away and faltered for but a moment. "You wanted to know what made me tick!" The android balked with genuine ire.

The human stepped forward clutching a fistful of Hank's jacket to bring them face to face. He felt bad. It was already ruined and stained.

“Listen here you,  _ fuck _ . I want to know if cutting you open will make you beg. See if your guts hanging out will make you want to shove them back in when you can’t. I want you to know what your own blood tastes like.”

Sixty nodded trailing his tongue over his teeth in an interested manner.

“Kinky.” He confessed. “I like you. So, before we can begin this little experiment of yours. I’m going to have you pick something for me.” He smiled, head shaking a bit from the excitement. “Should I play the damsel or the tough hero guy? Take your pick. What will get you off tonight big boy?”

Christopher's eyes flick across his face searching for whatever it was he was looking for. When he didn't find it, he set his jaw angrily, released the android, drew back the bat, and struck him across the face with the hardest blow yet.

“Oh fuck, right, right,” He coughed, voice rough and rugged. “The cocky too good to be here dick hole. Got it. I’m a natural then.” The android spat out blue blood and a tooth. His legs shivered under his own body weight. That hit caused static to ring in his ears and his vision to blackout for a moment and snap back like a harsh rubber band. 

It felt good.

He lifted his head and smirked. “I like it….” He licked his lips, the taste of thirium exciting him further. He loved thirium. Ana’s almost tasted just as sweet as his.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sixty leaned back against the pole legs splayed wide to help keep his body up. He widened his eyes, his voice wavering from a now sore jaw. “Oh, many things, my friend. You have no idea. This isn’t my first rodeo. So far, this is a walk in the park. So while I’m here getting _tickled,_ ”

Chris suddenly cracked the bat into his face. It took him a moment longer to recover from that one. But the blow was less calculated. Messy. Maybe he was breaking the human. It made a thrill go up his spine.

Who would break first? Him or the human? What a fun game.

“Like that...ow. Just to make this official, I am a cop and all.” He took in a deep breath his chassis creaking upon the motion of his chest rising and falling. No doubt something was broken in there. Oh yeah. It hurt like a fucker.

"I have to have audio of you confessing. Are you are responsible for sweet Ana's, Mr teacher, and meatboy's murders. Your MO is all over them, and you will be brought in for your crimes." He looked around himself, his face twisted into pain. "Once I figure out how to get out of here. Are these cuffs? Rope. The fuck did you use?" He made the motion of looking over his shoulder but winced with a short gasp escaping his lips. Something was broken in his neck for sure. The cracked plastic underneath ground in his own hearing.

“You think you’re so fucking tough.”

“I like to hide my panic with humor." A brilliant smile was flashed. "And honestly, you don't scare me. One fucked person to another?" He leaned forward as if he were telling a secret. "Old ladies with rolled-up newspapers do."

 

It had been an hour. Sixty's legs shook as fatigue took over his body. If it weren't from the lack of sleep, it was from the lack of thirium in his body now. He lifted his head, thirium dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He was breathing heavily, panting through foaming blood. Fingers rolled behind his back as he shifted to stand more straight against the pole. The knife in his abdomen shifted, and he winced bowing over again.

Even he had his limits.

“Not so smart now, are we?”

The android’s grimace turned into a forced smile as he laughed, a dry garbled sound. “No, no, never have been...” Another chuckle left him. “ _Fuck_...” He looked up to Chris with shivering vision.

Where he got all these tools, he wasn't too sure, but he loved it. His vision sharpened for a second as he watched him turn to the trunk of his car. He forgot...that's where he kept his little shop of horrors.

He eyed the long knife in his hand as he turned to face him. He noted traces of Ana's thirium on it. His eyes slid from the knife held in his left hand and then to the human’s eyes, they were such a pretty shade of hazel, in this lighting at least. Shame they were so unsteady and crazed as him. “Go on, do it. Round five. Let’s go, babe.” He hissed.

The human bared his teeth. He jammed it into his abdomen, twisting the blade sharply.

Sixty leaned forward over the human's shoulder, more blood being splattered onto Hank's jacket as a bark of laughter left him. His body practically vibrated, the heat of every nerve firing off. He felt his shirt cake to his skin as the wound bled. It had been such a long time since he felt like this. No, not _quite_ like this.

A chuckle left him as he sucked in desperate breaths of air to cool his overtaxed body.

He would not break. Back then he didn't, and right now, this human wouldn’t get the god damn pleasure. Self-preservation codes were tossed out the window. Pleasure was all he felt. The pain was good. Damn good.

“That's right. Give me more. _ ”  _ He whispered.  _ “ _ Makes me feel so good. So, so good...” He mumbled incoherently. 

A thrill went up his spine when Christopher stepped back, hands splayed out in uncertainty. “What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you?!” 

Sixty’s legs quivered where he stood when the only support of Chris’s body left him. A twisted smile remained on his lips, tired, and barely there.  “Yeah, feels different when your victim likes the torture, doesn’t it?”

Chris didn’t say anything, and he continued on. This silence meant everything. “What did Ana sound like? Did she put up a fight? Did she cry? What did she sound like, babe?”

“Shut up.”

“How about meatboy? I admired that one...How many times did you jack it over him? Am I not getting your dick hard enough, Chris?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The human took the blade in his chest and pulled, cutting a jagged line downward. 

Sixty placed his head back, no longer feeling the euphoria of the danger, a scream ripped from his throat. Warnings appeared in his vision as multiple bio-components were damaged and more thirium bled out at a worrying rate.

“See if you like this, you twisted fuck.” Chris used the blade to keep him steady as he dug through the android's internals fishing around for whatever he wanted to cut up next. And that's when Sixty felt the panic through the white-hot pain. He was the next Ana. Sweet, sweet Ana… 

Whatever sounds that came from him were left unregistered. At this point, Sixty didn't care. They were broken, shaking, quivering little sounds moving through the thirium that choked him and artificial lungs. They cracked and were cut short. 

He didn't dare to look down. Not yet. Though as a good guess, he must have looked like a gutted deer. 

“C-coming from the guy who...” He choked on his words, felt his metaphorical stomach flip as his hand roughly brushed against it. “Who plays operation on androids while they’re-they’re awake...doesn’t really hit me hard-agh!”

A growl escaped the human. He clutched whatever he could in a bloodied hand and ripped it all out. The android bit back a scream of pain, gritting his teeth. A countdown timer to offlining was now in his vision.

"Not laughing now, are we?"

No, he wasn’t. Behind all the pain, the warnings in his vision, the fear of dying. It felt good. He never felt so…

“I-I don’t have to ask why you like this be-because I know the answer too. It feels good to break something. To,  _ hah _ , kill it, yeah?”

The human released the fistful of his guts in morbid shock. “How are you still alive…?”

Sixty wasn't laughing anymore, but he felt a sort of victory. Bleeding out like a gutted deer tied to a lamppost. Rivers of his blood trailing down his body. He was reaching his own breaking point, but Chris was just a mere, timid, step away from it. His voice was small, weak, tired, yet still brave and cocky. Because his next words were truer than anything he had ever spoken.

He would never be normal. He would never be right in the head. He could never be fixed, and maybe that was alright. Maybe, just maybe, it was what made him come so far, survived all this time since day one. Who he was was not broken but a twisted work of mistaken perfected art.

“When-when you’ve spent so much time being dead,”  He attempted to stand straighter to collect just enough of his strength to deliver the groundbreaking line. He had to keep his role of the cocky too good to be here dick hole up. Curtain call was just around the corner too.

“Feeling anything... _ something, m _ akes you feel so alive.” A smile stained in blue crossed his lips. “And it feels good to be alive.”

His expression falls as sirens a few clocks away are heard. Hank found out about his impromptu mission it seemed. 

This wasn’t how he had planned it to happen. He hadn’t hunted down his prey and held him to bleed like he was now. But what he did do was break the human.

And it felt fucking great.

The cruisers pulled up behind them, the headlights bathing them in bright white. Blue and red lights highlighted the twisted smile still upon the android’s face.

Cruiser doors opened and the clicks of firearm safeties sounding off as they were trained on the human. Chris flinched upon the warning to surrender. He did as he was told and raised his hands numbly, thirium trailing down his arms. His eyes never left Sixty. 

“You can’t out fuck a fuck up, dude.” He barely rasped.

He was barely hanging on at this point, the timer clocking down. Finally giving in, knowing the battle was won, the android s lowly sank to his knees bowing forward limply. His arms looped around the bloodied post kept him upright. His hair fell over his face as he struggled to keep his eyes opened.

From a familiar old sedan did he see Connor, Hank, and Nines. He felt relief. Though a bit embarrassed that they found him like this. Connor was quick to holster his weapon and take Christopher’s hands behind his back, slicked with Sixty’s blood. Chris never put up a fight, eyes locked on the android he never broke.

Despite reading off his rights, he couldn't help but glance over to his brother in visible horror. “Sixty...”

“H-hey...bro...” His words were but a garbled mess behind a moan.

Nines is suddenly in his vision while Hank was quick to go behind him to cut loose from the multiple zip-ties around his wrists. They were bleeding too. The plastic cutting into his skin from the struggling. 

Hank is yelling for a technician. 

His body gives way when the last tie is broken, and he doesn’t have the strength to really catch himself. Nines does and is quick to hold him in his lap, hands gripping whatever mess that was his abdomen to stem the bleeding. He is careful of the blade still in his abdomen.

With his other bloodied hand, he cupped his head, forcing his head up that wants to fall to his chest. Wearily he opened his eyes to his foggy yet steady and strong voice. "Sixty, can you hear me? Stay awake, alright?" 

He didn’t even know he was in and out of it. 

The android went to speak, but he coughed and choked on thirium instead. He felt Nine's arms grip him tighter. How sweet. 

“Hold on, kid. Hold on. We gotcha." Hank. He was by his side now, opening his jaw. They’re gentle yet firm touches. Almost practiced by the way his fingers clear his mouth as his head is tilted. He struggled, his gag reflex going overboard but it felt good to hear his voice. It felt good for him to be so close. The fingers pull out of his mouth, and he feels slightly better. 

As Connor was dragging Chris away, he hears his voice one last time. "Bastard enjoyed every second of it! Fucking crazy-ass machine!" He spits. “Fucking monster!”

Sixty hears that through the fog. He feels victorious. A short moment of energy wells through him. Just enough to live this moment a little longer.

It is enough to make everyone slow their efforts of the scene and glance down to the now smiling android.

“I-I told you.” A slow, sinister smile crosses his lips. His voice is too low and garbled. Chris was already shoved in the cruiser. Nines and Hank pause staring down at him. He feels Nine's grip lessen. 

“I’m fucked in the head. Real bad.”

 

It was two days later, a good manually induced, undisturbed, recharge cycle and a clean bill of health from the precinct technician had Sixty return home for another two and then back to duty. Nines was the one to bring him back home.

It was Sixty that had to fill the silence. He liked silence. But not this kind. It judged him. Scrutinized him. Too sharp, smoky eyes never left him. He was trying to make everything seem so normal. Like nothing happened. And he knew it was a losing battle. 

He and his youngest brother walked the walls, the elevator and the upper floors towards the exit. It was a Saturday morning. Didn't mean it was less busy. 

Sixty continued his monologue. He doubt he was really being listened to anyhow.

"Was it right for her to leave because he needed her the most? Maybe. Was it her job to make him better? No. Did cheating make it better? No. It's a fucked story. It was made more fucked because the guy couldn't handle the stress and unpredictability of life." Sixty shoved his hands into his pockets. Deep down, he felt bad for the guy, but that was a deep, deep, down sort of pity. He understood why he snapped. 

It took one to know one.

The pity he felt for the innocent victims, families, and friends outweighed it. 

Didn’t mean he couldn’t deny where Chris’s craze came from. 

He refused to meet his eyes since this conversation started. “It’s a good story for one of those cop shows though am I right? I wonder if I could get a gig? What do you-?”

“Does that make him broken?” Nines cut his brother off as they walked down the marble steps. 

He doesn’t like where this is going, but it was inevitable. The middle brother held him in his arms, bleeding out, broken, yet smiling like a crazed fool. How was he to explain that one? How was he to come up with an excuse for that?

Sixty looked up to Nines's eyes narrowing in curiosity and a testing manner. When they reach the bottom, he stopped, turning to him bravely. He might as well just get to it then. He hated pussyfooting around after all. 

“Am I broken, dear brother?” He asked the same question, correcting his brother's real intention. 

He stopped too. Nine's cold gray eyes sharply flicked up to his brother. He got down and dirty as well. “You enjoyed  _ torture _ .” He emphasized with a barely hidden shiver. There it was. And here it comes.

Sixty looked away, his lips pursed into a flat line. His knee bounced at the sudden energy he needed to expel. That or he was nervous. "So, my self-preservation programs are messed up. And so my pleasure and pain sensors can be screwy. Do I know it isn’t right? Yeah. I made it out alive. I solved the case. Happily ever after.” He quickly explained. “Even Fowler is happy.”

Nines gripped his arm when he turned away to continue walking. “You need help.”

Sixty smacked his hand off of himself and growled. His demeanor calmed, but it became dangerous. "Fuck you." 

Nines took a different route. They were dancing around each other with rebuttals and rephrasing. Made him feel like a politician. Hank would like that joke. 

“Do you feel as if you need to be fixed?” Nines questioned slowly and carefully.

He didn’t like the way it was asked. As if it was rehearsed. As if it was spoken about while he was healing and unaware. He wondered if wonderboy and the old man had a talk with him. He could imagine the worried murmurings next to his prone body. The promises made to keep it private. To protect his “safety” and “image.” It made him sick. 

“ _ No _ .” He gritted, jaw locking upon every other word. “I don’t need  _ pity _ . I’m not a broken toy.  _ They made me _ the way I am. I’m  _ me _ . No fixing. No evaluations. No more of that  _ shit _ .” His voice darkened and cracked upon the word. He couldn’t take it if he were to be prodded and poked again.

He stepped closer. He appreciated how Nines didn’t step back. “So if I were you, stop being the hero trying to save me.” He backed away harshness in his expression. 

“I’m far from saving since I came back, Nines.” The night they were all huddled around him as he broke down crossed his mind. Apparently, Nines forgot. “I thought you knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, an ever lovely and wholehearted thank you to my beta reader Ms_Chanandler_Bong! Please, please give her fics a peek as well and give her some love.


	3. REASON #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crud this chapter is a mONster. Sorry for such the long wait, so much has happened recently and for the better. I have stepped down from my managerial job for the simple fact it was wearing me down to the bone and disrupting my life as I knew it. I know this will be a positive change for the simple fact I will have more free time and less responsibility to burden my free time. As always thank you all for the kudos, the hits, and the bookmarks (I see you). And if you would be so kind as to let me know what you think that would be amazing! Much love to you all and enjoy! 
> 
> If you guys are interested, I have a playlist based on my take on Sixty’s personalty on Spotify. I also use this playlist to write many of the scenes in the fic as a moodsetter. Give it a listen!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2y8jSNNgwg3Ju9qQnkPS2X?si=RX6lhdc1RrGvIxMC-iPsOw
> 
> Find me on tumblr and drop a line! @technohumanlation

* * *

He is loyal. He will stop at nothing to protect the ones that would do the same for him.

* * *

 

 

 

Just a half-hour ago, Jonathan Ericson opened fire on the first floor of the law firm he once worked for. Losing his job was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Shaky hands gripped a handgun that swept side to side, seeking an open target. He too stared down the barrels of several standard-issue police weapons.

“Last warning, Ericson!” Gavin shouted across the outside foyer from behind a cruiser car door. “Put the gun down!”

“And this is why we don’t drink and do drugs on company time, kids.” Sixty sat crouched behind the driver’s side car door and rolled his eyes. At some point, the guy pointed the gun to his head. "If he finally shot himself this would be over...” Sixty sang-songed through his teeth.

Nines glanced down to his brother with a disapproving and disgusted glance. “Do you ever have a filter?”

“No. But am I lying…? You didn’t argue about-.” There was a loud _pop_ of Ericson’s gun going off. And then another. Nines was already reporting shots fired and asking again for permission to take down the perpetrator.

Uselessly Sixty sat against the car door, banging the back of his head against it. He noticed this particular cruiser had a stash of candy in the side compartment. Hank used this cruiser yesterday. “So, might want to tell Wonderboy I found daddy’s stash.” Another shot from Ericson, and then from above Nines fired. Sixty didn’t even flinch.

“Caramel squares? Hank, you dirty bastard..." He murmured in humor, tossing the bag back into the car.

It had to be a kill shot because everything went silent. “Ah, such a shame. Show’s over, let’s go-." His eyes had drawn to a droplet of blue blood that fell onto his pant leg. His eyebrows pinched in confusion, and then he glanced up. Nine’s had a hand clamped over his shoulder and part of his neck.

Another report of Ericson’s gun. He was only reloading.

The android fell into a crouch next to his brother, gritting his teeth.

“Holy shit...” His eyes were wide as he exchanged glances between a red LED and his brother's discomfort filled expression. His brother was hurt. His brother. Was hurt. “Nines?”

“I’m fine.” The blue blood trailing down his forearm and dripping from his elbow said otherwise. It stained his white jacket too brilliantly.

Sixty placed his hand over his own and came closer to him, running a quick scan. “No, the fuck? You aren’t. It hit a main line. Fucking thing is still in there.”

Another gunshot made him jump, and for once Sixty felt something other than nonchalant ease, humor, or boredom.

He felt panic.

Sixty could take abuse. He could last hours of torture and could enjoy it too. It was what made him survive. He could stand firm against painful tests and prodding. He could take a bullet and chuckle.

But he didn’t know how strong Nines or Connor or Hank were. He didn’t know their methods of survival. They...they weren’t him. And not knowing what they could handle or not made him scared.

He knew fear. But this kind was too raw.

Nines gritted his teeth and shoved the glock into Sixty’s hand. He jumped out of his thoughts with a start. “I just got permission to take him down. Do it Sixty. Take the shot before anyone else gets hurt.”

Sixty held the gun in his hands. The last time he held a weapon, it was pointed at the men he now called father and brother.

He looked up to his brother. So much trust was held in those steely gray eyes of his. “I...”

Another shot and a yell that was cut off.

_“I don’t have a clear shot.”_

_“We need paramedics-now!”_

Static crackled across the radio with each voice. Some steady. Some panicked.  
 _“We got permission. Get the shot…”_

The android swallowed thickly as Nines nodded reassuringly. By now, blood seeped through his fingers and crawled along the stained sleeve quickly. He wanted it to stop. He wished he could press pause, then rewind, and reassess the situation a bit better.

But life didn’t have a pause or rewind button.

Taking the gun in a thirium slick grip, he switched the safety off and took in a deep breath.

He released it slowly, stood from behind the car door, and took aim. Two effortless shots echoed back at the human. One through the knee, making sure he went down and one to the shoulder to render his dominant hand useless.

The gun was dropped.

Sixty stepped aside from the cruiser and slowly approached the squirming man, gun poised on the target. The android made a note of how he looked like a fish out of water, a beetle on its back.

He trained the weapon at his head, and he looked into brown bloodshot eyes pleading for mercy.

He almost ignored it.

His finger flicked from the guard to the trigger. Quick, heavy footfalls. A number floating in his mind. A person by his side. He startled, looking up. Gavin. Oddly enough, there were no snark remarks. There was only a hand on his arm to lower the gun.

He was afraid to admit what would have happened if he never did.

His expression was sympathetic yet firm. "It's over Sixty. Shut it down," he murmured.

Sixty looked away as soon as two officers pulled Ericson onto his front and cuffed him. Suddenly tired eyes looked up to the human, and he nodded once. “Thanks...Gavin.”

The detective returned the gesture allowing a glare to stay on him a moment more than necessary. Sixty broke it purposely. “Nines. He needs help. He’s bleeding out,” Sixty said in a small voice.

The youngest RK android remained where he was when the realization dawned on the human. He was glad someone else could leap into action. He couldn’t. The puddle of thirium that grew more with each pump of the androids heart made his skin crawl. He hated it and himself.

 

Sixty sat on the couch. His knees pulled to his chest as he stared down to the floor. Sumo was next to him snoring. The android never dared to move and wake the elderly Saint Bernard.

Even when Hank walked into the room and crouched in front of him, Sixty didn’t move. Nor moved to meet his soft expression. It was like he was approaching a little child.

“I just got the call. Nines is just fine. He lost some blood, but nothing like a pouch or two will fix that. Connor's been through some shit like that. It's scary, but androids are tougher than us at least." He pressed a fist into his shoulder in good nature. But when Sixty didn't move, he frowned.

“...Kid?”

He remained silent.

Hank sighed shoulders sagging. “The first time I shot someone, it was-.”

“That wasn’t the first time, Hank.” Sixty finally met his eyes and wished he hadn't. He saw Hank swallow the lump in his throat.

This wasn’t about shooting the gun. That was the natural part of the whole damn situation. Shooting was easy.

What came after...what happened because he did cause harm. _He liked it._

Killing was easy.

Just switch off the empathy and crank up the ethereal rush of metaphorical adrenaline. The trigger was the only obstacle to more of the addicting high. That power. Who lived and who died...morals be damned. Cyberlife experimented with him like that after all.

He liked the kill. Loved it.

But never again did he wish to do so again. He bore that cursed number. Thirty-four already died by his hands.

A dangerous low growl came from his throat. “I’m useless out there without a gun. I couldn’t even protect Nines.” He held his head, gripping blonde locks of hair tightly. In a small voice, he confessed. “They... _I_ don’t trust myself with a gun.” He hated to admit it.

“So what the fuck do I do?” He looked back up to the old man.

The android watched as his scruffy jaw inched side to side in thought, truly stumped as to how to answer.

Sixty placed his cheek upon his knee because he knew there was no answer.

 

He didn't think he would ever get to use a firearm. It took a year for Connor and Nines to be granted individual permissions from the government itself.

And despite the inner turmoil surrounding the possession of a said weapon, he knew they were beautiful little things.

He leaned back in his desk chair, blatantly ignoring the paperwork that had amounted there such as cold cases he was assigned to raise from the dead. That wasn’t on his mind. That glock was.

Sixty remembered the sensation of the recoil, the smooth slide of the bullet discharging. He relived it one too many times.

He may have fired and used every weapon known to man under the sun when he was Cyberlife’s plaything, but nothing compared to _that_ glock. Nines kept it fucking immaculate. He had seen him take the damned thing apart, clean it, oil the parts with such meticulous care. It was a wet dream come true.

It was smooth and steady. Aimed true...rA9.

A perfect match for goody-goodier two shoes.

A deadly game of fifty-fifty for himself.

The number floated into the forefront of his mind, halting all his thoughts.

_34._

Sixty hissed a heated, frustrated curse. He didn’t think he wanted a weapon after all.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, startling him. “The fuck-?” He looked up to none other than Nines. Automatically his eyes went to his neck. Nothing. Like, brand spanking new. As if nothing had happened.

Sixty’s heart fluttered upon a small smile that curved at the edge of his lips. It was gentle and genuine. Those smiles were rare. And never would he admit it, he wanted to soak them up while they lasted.

He couldn’t fight the urge of leaping from his desk chair and hugging his brother close. Everything else melted away.

People only dared a glance and nothing more. They didn't want to be under the wrath of the youngest RK model.

“I’m proud of you.” The android rumbled.

Sixty buried his face into his brother’s chest, eyebrows kitting together. He was glad he was alright, relieved. He then sighed, reluctantly pulling away, clearing his throat.

“What? didn’t think I could take the shot?” He smiled a cocky grin to hide the more mushy emotions he was feeling at the moment.

Nines’ smile curved more as a breath of humor left him. “Of course not. You spared the human.”

And that was when everything went out the window. Sixty blinked moving his mouth to say something, but it fell dead on his lips. He took in a breath of air and raised a finger.

“Did-did you really think-?” He shook his head. He dropped his hand when the android confirmed his assumption with just one regret-filled look and a flickering yellow LED.

Soft, brotherly, reunion was officially ruined.

“Want to-want to run by me what you really wanted to say?” He rasped.

Nines realized he was in the deep shit all too late.

It wasn’t the first.

“I didn’t mean-.”

Or the last.

“Look.” Sixty tried to keep his patience, he really did. He was glad his brother was okay. He was okay. So it was okay to rip into him now. “I don’t know why, or what you see me as, but this isn’t the first time you’ve come up to me and started pissing me off with...” He gestured vaguely at his brother. “ _This_ shit.”

“When I first killed I wouldn’t have stopped if Gavin wasn’t there.” He confessed quickly and curtly. “Gavin told me how he stopped you.”

Sixty paused, his aggravated and defensive stance lessening into something more relaxed as he ran through his brother’s quickened sentence. Over and over he replayed it. It couldn’t be the truth. Goody-goodier two shoes couldn’t be the one to have blood lust. He was lying.

Though the way Gavin had stopped him. It was familiar in the human’s eyes. He had seen an android needing to be stood down.

“I..." Nines looked around himself as if afraid of prying eyes or wandering ears. He stepped closer. Sixty remained where he was taking a grain of salt with his words. "I had first become a deviant, and I couldn't stop. The android was long gone...and I _couldn’t_ stop.”

That didn’t mean he could fuck with him.

“So, you emptied a clip into him…?” Sixty murmured in horror. And for a moment he rather enjoyed the shame the android showed. The horror upon his face morphed into humor and then a face splitting grin. Laughter bubbled out of him.

Confusion mixed with the same shame was written upon Nines’ face. “I’m afraid I fail to see the humor of it.”

Sixty continued to laugh and spun around with his arms up in the air. “Oh, that’s so cute.” He smiled lovingly at his bother, fixing his collar sweetly. Nines never moved.

He patted his chest and placed his hands up in a fair manner. “Get the fuck away from me.” He smiled and said in a jovial way.

Nines balked. “Excuse me?”

“Get." He smiled. "The fuck. Away from me." He grounded out still smiling, though the anger was now seeping through. His eyes were hardened despite the comical stance. The warning was enough, and the android was smart.

He watched as the android reluctantly did as he was told.

 

“He was trying to relate to you.” Connor’s voice drifted from the kitchen.

Sixty dropped into the couch slowly, a pen that had long since died flicking over his knuckles. Sumo followed after the android, happily jumping onto the couch. He placed his legs over the android's lap and panted, content with his comfort.

Sixty took the invitation and began petting the dog under his ear. “You can’t relate to me. Want to know why?”

His brother circled from the kitchen and walked into the living room, drying his hands off with a towel. He had just finished up cleaning up from cooking dinner for daddy. Another late shift at the precinct. This week was killing him.

Connor ticked his head towards his brother his face scrunched into something unpleasant. “I really don’t.”

He pointed the pen at him. “Exactly. See, you know when to back off and not push my buttons.” He lifted his hand from Sumo to switch sides. The pen flipped and twirled effortlessly. He had built up energy. It had been collecting for a while now and he felt...twitchy.

The pen stilled in his hand and he tapped it on his temple where his LED would have been.

“Yeah, see, if he was trying so hard to relate to me,” he huffed. “Why make the assumption I would kill?” He bit out.

The eldest RK unit sighed in light exasperation and tossed the towel to the counter where it landed with a plop. “Nines doesn’t know how to word his emotions correctly. Gavin was the one to turn him deviant, so many of his personality traits come from him. He can be... _blunt_.” He moved over to Hank’s recliner and sat, folding his legs under himself.

"Well, that explains a hell of a lot." He chuckled darkly beginning to trip the pen over his knuckles. Sumo placed his head down upon his paws and huffed in agreement. “Still isn’t an excuse for being an asshole.”

Connor’s eyes flicked to his hand where the pen continued to dance and twirl. “You’re frustrated.”

Sixty exhaled annoyingly, at the obvious. “And?” Yeah, he was frustrated. To the point where he became like this. He wasn't in the mood to talk about what was bothering him. Connor may have had an idea, but the bastard wouldn't say it. He wanted him to spill the can of beans that was also filled with worms. A weird tactic he used that probably came from his interrogation skills.

His brother’s LED swam from a momentary yellow to a calm blue. “ _And_...you don’t always have to be so caustic. It’s okay to let the walls come down.” He murmured gently. “It helps, Sixty.”

Sixty stopped twirling the pen, hand dropping heavily into Sumo’s fur. He stared at the opposite wall.

But somehow and in someway, Connor always knew how to pry his troubled thoughts from the can that wasn’t completely opened. He almost confessed. Almost.

That number weighted heavily on his shoulders.

34.

Never again would it ever go past that number. A promise Nines didn’t know he had mocked.

Despite it all, Sixty smiled, though it was sad. Let down his walls, huh? He wasn’t doing that again.

He didn't know how unwise that decision was. “The last and first time I did that was when I discovered how I was made. Sorry," He looked up to his brother, a rare form of sincere apology upon his face and in his words. "Not again, Wonderboy."

 

Sixty was allowed to accompany the persons on Hank's team as backup, not to help solve the cases, not doing the dirty work. To stand there and look menacing. He had proved his plastic to Fowler, but it wouldn't be quite enough to get him a gun and active cases.

It still felt good to be there in the person with Hank. He learned by watching and listening to that man. He learned by observing and, for once, staying quiet, in the metaphorical shadows. He liked to solve the situation before anyone else could.

But sitting on the backline of defense was boring. At this point, the android was becoming stir crazy, antsy to the end of needing to twirl a pen or fiddle with something in his hand to spend the excess energy he had.

And here, right now? Watching a fire engulf the building before him wasn't really entertaining enough though the fact that an android might have started the blaze was rather interesting. That's mostly the reason why they were here.

“I forgot the marshmallows, Hank.” He turned his head towards the man, talking over the commotion of the scene. It was a mess. Connor shot him a look.

“Too bad, huh?”

Sixty sighed, crossing his arms, watching as the firemen were desperately working to put out the inferno. A team was unraveling another hose as they spoke.

Sixty crossed his arms and kept his stance firm. It was boring to watch the fire engulf and destroy people's homes. But there was nothing that could be done at this point. The building caught too fast, and the fire was too intense. It would collapse in the next hour. The android flicked his gaze over to the said families huddled by ambulances and holding one another. Everyone had made it out alive. But not without minor, severe, or almost life-threatening injuries.

Life was a funny, _cruel_ , bitch, wasn't it?

“-son! He’s in there! No! Please!”

All three of their attentions were drawn to a woman being dragged away from getting too close to the building. Her clothes were scorched, as well as her once long hair. There were burns along the side of her face and arm, blistered and oozing.

He noted the cop that was walking towards them from the scene. The android gripped his arm, firmly, not hard. It startled him, but he wasn't all that angry about it. “What happened?” Sixty released his grip as he spun on his heel.

The officer followed his gaze. “Oh her? _Shit_.” He indicated the woman with a tip of his jaw. “She’d tried to make it to her child but couldn’t. The fire was...is just too strong. These old buildings go up in flames like pine trees.”

Hank set his jaw tightly upon the heavy news.

She was crying and struggling, weakly, but still giving a good fight against the two men trying to take her to safety.

Sixty never took his eyes off of her. His brother noticed.

From his side, Connor stepped closer to him. "Sixty."

“Her son is still in there." He murmured, noting the way his brother was thinking. He knew it just by his disco ball swimming across all colors.

No one was making a move to go back in.

“The building’s too unstable.” Connor murmured. “Sometimes...”

“No." He broke his gaze away from the woman to shoot his brother a seething look just as hot as the fire before them. "Bullshit. You see what I see in there. Ten minutes until it becomes unsafe. The fire hasn't reached the structural pillars yet."

The woman gave into the two men, sobbing her heart out, too weak and injured to fight them any more. An oxygen mask was forced over her mouth.

Sarah Leanne's son was five years old. Just began kindergarten in the fall. Her only son. Single mother.

He was stir crazy. Needing to be of some use. Needing to do some sort of good. When no one dared to make the move, he fucking did. The rush of energy came, and without a second thought, he bolted towards the building.

“Sixty! Fucking-!” Hank had tried to stop him by tackling him down, but he was too fast, easily dodging the human. Connor didn’t make a single move to stop him. He knew better. No one could stop the android once he was set on a mission.

 _“You have twelve minutes,"_ Connor warned over their internal communications.

That was fine by him. At least they could say an attempt to save the last human was made.

Climbing the unstable stairs, through the halls, he had made it to the fifth floor.

The fire was hot, and the android felt his clothes burn in the heat. Pearly white of his chassis was revealed in splotches when the heat made artificial skin malfunction. A human wouldn’t be able to last in these conditions. He barely could. The burn didn’t bother him. It reminded him he was just as alive as any other human.

Searching for a heartbeat through the sounds of crackling wood and popping metal, he found the unconscious boy in apartment three zero three. Rushing past the broken doorway and shouldering his way through an unstable wall, he found little James curled up by his bedroom window clutching his favorite teddy. He had breathed in too much smoke and suffered second-degree burns. He was glad the kid was out of it.

The pain would have sucked.

The android had ducked through the collapsed bedroom wall and collected the boy in his arms, making sure his teddy was secure in his grip as well. He held him close, chin tucking over his little shoulder. Carefully he made it towards what remained of the fire escape in the living room next to him.

 _“Sixty, you are running out of time.”_ Connor’s calm voice flickered through their private communication line.

He ignored his brother.

Holding the child securely to his chest with one arm, he gripped the hot metal with the other, gritting his teeth as plastic and metal charred away. Despite the pain, he climbed down. A sharp, loud creak sounded from above. Sixty curtly stopped, looking up as the bolts gave way from the brick.

_“Sixty!”_

He could take the fall from the fifth story. A broken leg or shoulder would ensue, but if he took the fall, the child would get away with just a nasty bump.

Quickly, he tried to climb down as much as he could before the ladder could give way, leaving behind more and more of the plastic to his hands. And when it did, he ensured his body was curled protectively around the child, his back facing the ground.

When he met the solid ground, all went black.

 

“He's crawling in his skin!" Hank yelled. "For fuck's sake, he ran into a burning building to save a kid for fucking fun!"

He got away with a cracked cranial unit, some burns, a broken shoulder, and hip joint. A fractured spinal strut had him feeling sore. And...some of his internal bio components were tossed about like a salad but other than that the child escaped with a little jostling and bruising. All and all he thought he did fucking amazing.

The kid would make a full recovery.

Outside the Captain's office, Sixty was leaning against the smoky glass; arms crossed over his chest, one foot plated firmly against the glass wall. His jaw was set as he burned a hole into the floor before him. No one dared to approach the android, and he rather liked it that way.

The captain retorted.

“Look, he’s a good kid deep down!” They didn’t think he could hear them. “He wants to prove himself that every moment he can get! _Just_...let’s see what he does on a scene. He needs just a little guidance. Proper training even.”

He could hear Hank’s every word.

Fowler sighed heavily. “His last stunt had me running circles!”

“He needs more time to adjust. He is not fit for on-scene duty quite yet."

Sixty curled his nose in distaste. Fucking Nines. He was defending him in his own twisted manner. To the middle RK brother, he thought he was defending him. In reality, he was putting him down. The more and more his brother spoke the wedge between them grew. A growl rose from his throat as he lowered his foot from the glass.

A woman nearby eyed him warily.

“A psych evaluation would be the best starting point to asses where he could be placed. Sitting at a desk all day is clearly not beneficial and nor is front line duty if his rational thinking is wavered."

“Nines, quit with that harsh shit.” Hank snapped. “He’s still your brother.”

“It’s the truth.” He defended rather firmly.

“I agree, Hank. If he is to...”

Sixty tisked angrily walking away before the fire in his veins grew too hot. He couldn't take any more of his brother's brave hero talk anymore. Funny how he was trying to help in his most Nines way. Logical and cutthroat.

At least Connor was smart to stay quiet the whole time.

 

He wouldn’t have a say in his decision. It was unfair, but he couldn’t fight the authority above him. What little composure and stable thinking he had left would give way to built up emotions real soon. He could only be a good little android for so long.

The final solution to troublesome Sixty was to have him continue desk duty. He flipped the pen in his hand, catching it effortlessly without giving it a second glance.

No more on the scene travels. No. He would compromise their public visage and Sixty didn’t want to dwell on more of the half-assed reasons why he couldn’t be in for proper duty.

Let alone a fucking firearm.

At this poin,t Sixty was glad he got rid of his fucking LED. That thing would have given him away a hundred times over.

The past few days had been quiet, and Sixty hadn't seen his brother since the day his fate was sealed without his own input. Him and Ass-vin were out doing a drug bust. Did it worry him? Hell no. He was glad he didn't see him because if he did, he would rip his throat out.

Just a little at least…

Another flip of his pen.

Hank and Connor were ever the ones to keep the calm between all three of them. Sixty could care less. His words meant nothing to anyone anyhow. He was starting to feel rather tired. The sensation of those determining his fate was beginning to feel all too familiar.

He hated it.

His pen stilled.

Sixty looked up from his desk in time to catch a woman rushing by, careful on her feet to not draw attention by the click of her heels against the hard floors. She was failing thus far. Worry was written on her face with a piece of crinkled paper held in her hand. He recognized her as one of the secretaries up at the front desk. He raised an eyebrow tilting his head to get a better view. He could have sworn she was crying as well.

The pen was forgotten and dropped.

The android watched as she knocked on Fowler’s door with hectic yet light touches as if afraid to get anyone else attention. Once again, she failed. The android stood up and slowly made his way towards the office. Curiosity killed the cat but also his sanity. What else did he have to do anyhow?

As soon as she was inside the woman was fumbling over her words and Fowler was trying to calm her so he could understand what the hell she was trying to say.

Sixty could. He understood every word.

The drug bust Nines and Gavin had gone all wrong. They were found out. It had been three days since the last contact. It was assumed not to give their position away. It was assumed they were doing their jobs. No, all this time they were held. And just an hour ago a proposition was made by the fucks holding them. The call couldn’t be traced.

His mind raced, but before he could leap into action, the leash around him was pulled tight. Fowler had dismissed the woman and stood from his office door. He looked down at him, surprised to see him so close but called them to the office anyhow. This time Sixty was to be inside.

 

They eyed the antsy android warily, but Fowler continued to speak in a calm collected manner.

“We need to step back and take account of all our options. We can’t fuck this up. Not when they were so close.”

They had been pussyfooting said options for an hour now. Hank was calm as well, but he knew the old man by now. He was scared for his adopted, android son. His eyes were too misty. Connor was calm as ever,d but he knew he was running through plan “A” through “Z” and “a1” all the way to “Z thirty-four subsection forty part five, point a”.

Sixty, however, had his own set of plans. His jaw creaked as he set it firmly — no more waiting. His patience was up. The dam would finally break.

“I don’t _care_ what kind of permissions you need to get.” His strict voice bit through the tense air cutting it easily.

He was satisfied by the startled expression and the way his body jumped. Fowler swallowed uneasily. Hank turned towards him. Connor oddly never moved to acknowledge his outburst. Calm and cool just like his disco ball. “Fuck the case! My brother is in there! They’re doing god knows what to them, Gavin too but whatever. Do it! Send me for fuck’s sake! I don’t _care_.”

The android felt too many emotions all at once. Sixty felt guilty for treating his brother so cruelly, especially right before he left for their bust. He felt frustration for the fact they were dancing on their toes around him. He felt anger for the fact he had proved himself twice that he was willing to do whatever it took to get on their good side, and yet they still treated him like a dog on a leash. He felt sadness for his own demons crawling and whispering under his skin. But most importantly, he felt that panic infused fear swallow him whole.

Jeffery Fowler set his jaw tightly, considering his unbalanced tone very carefully. “Sixty, please...Hank?” It was out of his hands.

And like the good obedient dog, he was to the Captain he did as he was told with just one word. “Son, you need to-”

Calm him down.

There would be no calm this time. Not when they had been pulling his leash too tightly. The dog could only take so much before the bark turned into a bite. The good little toaster was now a fucking war machine.

“No!” He snapped at the old man. But not before turning to his superior officer. He jammed a finger into his chest. “Fuck you!”

Connor remained still and steady by his side, but now he was looking at him. Observing with his hands set behind his back.

“Stand down, Sixty.” Fowler grounded out calmly, ripping his finger away from his chest.

“No.” Sixty allowed it. For now. “I’m going to pull another Chris Hughes stunt, and we all know how fun that was to explain to the city."

“We can’t! Get it through your head, kid. There are rules, protocols...precautions. Especially with this cartel! Sorry, we just _can’t_...” Hank explained. He hated how Fowler was telling daddy to calm him down instead of himself. Sixty hated it too. He meant well. At this point in time, the android didn't see that.

He was scared.

And the emotions were ripping through him harder and faster than any bullet could.

“You don’t trust me? You don’t think I could handle it? Fucking Nines talking that good samaritan shit is whipping you guys up and pissing _me_ off! Getting your head to think all the bad about me.” The emotions were feeling hotter. Blinding all logic.

“Hank! Get him under control!”

Sixty took in a sharp inhale. Wrong choice of words that brought back the familiar sting of the past.

He acted out.

Sixty charged forward with violent intent. Hank backed away with his hands up. Fowler stood from his desk in fear. It felt good. It stung to know that he still could be so unbalanced and wreak havoc. Feared.

He was almost across the desk. “You’re just like _them_ -agh!” Only now did Connor make a move. Sixty was pulled back violently from across the Captain’s desk. He didn’t know his brother was _that_ strong. It impressed the youngest RK android later on.

He continued on despite his brother holding him back. Hank stared at the scene in quiet horror.

“Think I can’t fucking reign in my emotions? No, get off of me, you piece of fucking _shit_!”

“Enough, Sixty, shut it down.” Connor’s gentle tone was strained from the strength he needed to use to reign him in.

For a moment, the android felt victory seeing the man before him break his calm facade for anger. So the human could be human after all. “You will compromise the precinct, our image, and mission if you keep this mentality up! We are all aware he is in there, but we need to stay calm, acknowledge the terms and conditions of their release and-.”

“So, giving them thirium and making more red ice to put out on the street is the alternative to me getting them out and causing a little trouble!?”

Sixty didn’t jump when the captain took a step forward and slammed his hands on his desk. His voice thundered. “The alternative to you fucking it up and getting them killed!”

His thirium pump practically stalled at the accusation. He growled. “I would _kill_ them before they even could have the _fucking_ chance to _look_ in their direction." Everything he said was in a blind rage, helplessness, and fear.

Everything he was feeling for the past week came crashing down upon him in a moment. Was he screaming? Was he crying? He wasn’t too sure.

“-rip them limb from limb! They don’t know what real pain is!” But like a bad dog he was, he was dragged out of the office to be put in the dog house.

“-suspended, Hank! I don’t care!” Fowler’s voice boomed behind them. Hank turned to face them.

One look from his adoptive father was enough to cause his thirium pump to sputter in his moment of rage. What was that look and...why did it make him feel like he failed? But before he could act upon such an emotion directed towards him, the android was dragged out of his sight, past the bullpen, down the hall, and outside towards the back where people had their smoking breaks.

He drew attention to himself, and his brother, who fought tooth and nail to contain him. In the future, he would be colored impressed.

The smell of stale tobacco stung his nose, but the Captain’s words stung more. Connor was forced to release him by a firm strike to his thirium pump. His brother gasped in pain at the cheap blow.

“They aren’t going to help him!” He started to rush away, but once again he was held in a firm Nelson hold.

“You are a detective of Detroit. Start acting like it! You have to hold up an image.”

Sixty growled when he was bent forward at a sharp angle.

Connor’s LED finally bled a crimson when he struggled. “Reliving the glory day huh, Connor?” They were both too alike, and they knew each other's fighting prowess and skills. Sixty squirmed in the hold and elbowed his brother in the face, a satisfying crack sounding. Though he felt terrible deep down, the guilt wouldn't stop him from taking his glock from his holster and spinning out of his hold. He held it true towards Connor. He would never shoot him, but it felt good to have that power in his hand.

Connor knew he wouldn’t shoot either. He held his nose that bled blue and looked up to him. He hissed in pain though his hardened brown eyes held him in a steel grip.

"Enough Sixty, you know deep down you cant go half-cocked with a fucking handgun to save your brother.” He swore. Connor. Wonderboy swore. He spat aside the blood that trailed into his mouth, loosening his tie.

Sixty huffed his bangs that became loose from its gel hold fluttering from the breath. He equally leveled him with crazed and unsteady eyes. He pressed out his untucked, and wrinkled shirt with a shaky hand. “Fucking watch me. Pain is nothing to me. I could run through hell and come back with a smile." He took the safety off. "I did it once, so try me, brother."

Connor stood up fully his voice and directive taking a different turn. “I’m scared.” He murmured. “I’m scared too, Sixty. I’m scared too...” He confessed lowly. It was the metaphorical white flag to ease the situation that would only get worse. Sixty felt it.

But just like that his fire was snuffed out. With only that confession from him, genuine or not, it made his will crumble.

Because he was scared too, for the second time in his life, in the same week, he was scared. And he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Sixty curled his lip as a choked forced sound came from trembling lips. "Fuck!" He spat. " _Fuck_!" He lowered the gun, walking around in a half-circle in a desperate, reluctant, surrender.

Suddenly he turned around and faced his brother tapping the mouth of the barrel against his temple. The safety was still off, but he didn't seem to care. He was shot once in the head already. Why not a second time to test luck? Connor kept calm for his sake. He knew it. It didn't stop him from breaking the fuck down, though.

“The moment I found out I killed so many innocent lives, I wouldn't again...never. I had _no_ control back then. But now I _do,_ and I can kill...but-" His voice wavered his face twisting into pain. And Connor listened. God, it felt so good just to be _listened_ to.

“I-when I held Nines’ gun in my hand. I wanted to kill that son of a bitch for hurting him. I would have too. I _fucking_ would have. I want to kill those humans who have Nines. I want to make them suffer. But never again, Con'. I can't, I won't...It's not right!"

His voice keened as he looked down at Connor's glock in his hand. It was dense and firm in his grip. Like it's owner, it was reliable and warm. Ever so loyal and steady. "How can I protect my family when I can't trust myself with a gun? I...need to protect them. If the next bullet is to kill them, I should kill the one trying to harm, right?" He looked up to his brother again emotions just as raw and vibrant as they once were.

“I’m fighting _every_ single fiber that makes me, _me_ from going off and saving them. From doing what I’m not supposed to. Programmed _to do._ Do you know what it’s like to have three million voices telling you to do one thing and only two of reason telling you not?” His voice was choked and strangled as if someone had their hands wrapped around his throat. Everything was coming down too fast and too hard. Too many emotions to sift through. Too many programs to shut off as they came. “I was made to kill, Connor. _Kill you_!” He tapped the gun against his temple, his hand shaking before it held true. Connor lifted a hand upon the gun being pressed against his temple.

The eldest brother patiently waited for him to gather whatever words he wanted to speak, but nothing came forth. Sixty was done speaking, his chest feeling tight yet lighter than before.

He had let his walls down and perhaps, as his brother said, that's all it took to be a little saner. “No, Sixty.” He whispered lovingly lowering his other hand from his nose. It had stopped bleeding. Yellow flicked upon his temple. “No, I don’t. I could never understand how you think or function.” Connor bravely stepped forward bloody hands up in a placating manner. Gently, he reached for the gun that was held in a shaky grip still flirting against his temple. “But know that I accept that. Know that we are trying to work with what you have to offer.”

Sixty growled, the anger coming back tenfold. “By fucking controlling me!? All this time that's all you have been trying to do! Like them! Just like Cyberlife." He took a step back, and Connor froze. He set his jaw, and Connor shook his head.

“By _protecting_ you.” He corrected slowly.

The world stilled. Sixty blinked. “What?” He lowered the gun.

“You’re brilliant Sixty, you really are. You impressed us all with your first case. Yes...it was troublesome to clean up after your... _impromptu_ arrest, but the way you think is not your fault. We never thought that. We want what is best for you. And if that means discussing where we can place you, how to take care of you, then that's what it takes. It's not controlling you or _fixing_ you. It's seeing where you bring your best self forward."

With every word his brother spoke, his face creased in distress. In frustration, he tapped the side of his head with the barrel. He had it all wrong this entire time. He never looked at their words in this way. A low and long whine of pain escaped him.

Nines and Connor weren't making excuses for him but rather reasons to keep him on Fowler's good side. It was enough distraction for Connor to approach his brother slowly. He never made a move to back away or fight the gentle hands that pried his fingers off the gun one by one.

“As for your internal battle...what you did was not your fault. You were Cyberlife's puppet. But now you are alive, and you can make these choices to kill or not, _yourself_. It's the everyday battle of right and wrong, Sixty. Killing someone is a burden you have to live with for the rest of your life, but if it is to protect innocents and to save others, you have to make that choice, Sixty. Not me." He holstered the gun securely at his hip.

It was the olden tales of good and bad. Right and wrong. But those simple parallels always had substantial consequences behind them, didn't they? It was never black and white, and with each living moment of his waking life, Sixty was learning this.

Connor continued to speak, the last parting dialogue before this moment of brotherly bonding was over. “Nines was truly proud of you. Never mocking you.”

Sixty didn't see it now, but he believed Connor's words. Anything that his brother said at this point was nothing but wise experience from the eldest deviant.

“Do you know what he was made for, Sixty?” He asked softly, trying to meet his gaze.

The android shook his head, meeting it to witness soft brown and understanding eyes.

“Nines was made to replace me, If I had accomplished my mission, I would be dissembled, and Nines was to take my place." Connor smiled, though it was sad. "He has burdens too."

“And you?” The words fell from his mouth before he could catch them.

The smile remained. “I was made to kill too, Sixty. I was made to hunt deviants and bring them to Cyberlife dead or alive, remember?”

So...they all had skeletons, huh? He nodded numbly.

Only now did his own burden of what he had become in Cyberlife’s hands change from a demon to a shadow and skeleton he would always have. Moving forward, as his brothers had, he perhaps needed to shake those bones off. Sixty slumped his shoulders in exhaustion. Connor took this as a moment to continue off topic. Sixty was thankful.

“We have to stay calm and steady, and then we can make a plan of action. Fowler knows tensions are high. This case may be more delicate than what we know of. Consider this. He wants to save them too, Sixty.” He refocused the topic at hand with a firm voice.

He hadn't realized it, but Connor did. Those brown eyes of his flicked over his face and pity took hold of his expression. It was gentle and forgiving. Brotherly and supporting. It was all it took for him to crumble just a little bit more. To be on the receiving side of such things felt...good. It wasn't pity. It was understanding. The foreign yet familiar sting came to his eyes and nose. He couldn’t stop it. Tears fell slowly from his eyes. He angrily wiped them away. Connor didn’t mind at all.

“Nines is such, _such_ a fucking asshole and so is Gavin but, I can’t just _sit_ here. I can’t lose what little family I have.” He confessed. He felt broken. Empty. Like a shell to a bullet. Too much had happened so fast and he felt like he was whiplashed through the hellish roller coaster. He felt so tired.

Connor’s shoulders sagged upon the confession. "I know, and it's okay, that’s okay. This isn’t the first time they’ve experienced a drug bust gone wrong. I’m sure.”

“ _Funny_.” He spat the word. He cleared his throat of the lump. “Not helping.”

“Nor is being here. For now, go home, Sixty.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I will tell Fowler I dismissed you-”

“Can you even do that?” He stubbornly wiped the last of his tears.

He blinked slowly to reign in his patience, LED flickering between blue and yellow. “-and told you not to come back unless needed. I bet Sumo needs a walk anyhow." He urged gently.

The brother took his hand off of his shoulder a barely-there flick of a smile crossing his lips. “And no, I don't think so. Can anyone really argue who can do what and not at this point?"

Sixty couldn’t protest with that logic. Everything was upside down and sideways anyhow. He felt too exhausted to do much of anything else than do what he was told.

 

Sumo did, in fact, need a walk and take a rather impressive shit while he was at it. After he had given him a late lunch, Sixty rubbed one of his floppy ears with a sad smile and promised he would be back. When? He wasn’t too sure.

He had found himself back in the park where he first questioned his existence. Overlooking the river and watching the city lights twinkle, the way the low murmur of traffic broken by the occasional impatient blare of a horn. The way his artificial breath would cloud if he so desired to sigh in frustration. It was more satisfying that way.

Something about this park held some sort of redemption. A kind of calmness that quelled some of his fire. He couldn't help but feel like he had been here in some past life.

He took a step forward leaning against the metal guard rail with crossed arms. He crossed one ankle in front of the other and bowed his head, closing his eyes.

If he still had his LED it would have been a continuous circling of yellow. Round and around...

He felt helpless. Caged in by everyone around him. He wished to do the right thing. He wanted to save his brother and his partner. Despite all the lingering ill emotions towards his brother, he would do anything just to have him safe.

Even to go against the very promise he made to himself.  
RA9 knows what the hell could have or is happening to them both. Humans were twisted. Sixty knew it first hand and would never think otherwise. Nines was still his brother, an asshole but still his family. And if there was one thing that Hank had taught him it was family came first.

Always.

He saw the way Hank reigned and closed off his emotions to Fowler and Connor. But Sixty saw through the old man. He was worried about his adopted, android son. He felt helpless. Had to stand while the clock tick, ticked by, the thought of what they were doing to Nines and Gavin passing along with each second.

Sixty hissed a curse. He hated seeing his father in that way. But worse, he hated how Hank had looked at him when Connor was dragging him out of the office.

He didn't like disappointing him. It made him feel lower than low. Made him feel as if he were a failure. That man had given him priceless wisdom, taken him under his wing, showed him kindness, and taken him head-on when others didn't know how to approach.

He hated that expression, especially when it was directed towards him.

Sixty sighed his heart feeling too heavy in his chest. So. This is what guilt felt like? Guilt was easy to identify but accepting that he was in the wrong was harder. It was putting aside his ego and his pride that was the hardest. The weight of fixing his wrongdoings settled in his stomach, making him uneasy. But how to act upon it?

An apology would do no fucking good that’s for sure. Maybe sucking off ol’ Fowler? Possibility. He huffed in bitter humor at that.

His eyes sparkled in the dimming light of the sunset.

It wasn’t _that_ easy. It was about doing the right thing.

And always would the android do the right thing.

Saving that child from the fire was no mistake. He wasn't bored or stir crazy. Doing nothing while the world went on harboring such disgusting humans made his artificial skin crawl. So, maybe, just maybe doing some sort of good could tip the metaphorical scale. And of course, doing it without killing would be a challenge.

And perhaps to redeem himself of what he once was. If there were such a thing as android heaven, maybe rA9 would look upon him in favor for at least attempting to be good.

A child behind him screeched in glee when their mother guided them down the slide. He turned around, peering over his shoulder and offered a smile to the cute pair. When the mother caught his eye wearily, he offer a raised hand and smile in greeting. Her worry went away, and she returned the gesture.

She led her child away from the park. It was getting late and time to go home.

Sixty’s smile went away as he turned towards the harbor, a gust of wind causing his clothes and hair to flutter in the wind. He took in a deep breath of salty air.

He had enough of thinking. He did too much of it in his spare time as it was. Taking action was now the only part. If it would go to waste, he didn’t mind. At least he tried.

The android picked a number from his contacts and called, leaning more on the guardrail, focusing on a cluster of driftwood passing by. It only rang once before Hank picked up.

Sixty bowed his head, carding his fingers through his messy blonde hair. "Hey, Hank, it's me uh, Sixty...yeah, yeah m' fine." He smiled a bit at that. Never was the old man angry at him first. It was always concern and then the belt if needed.

He had to swallow his pride and ego. And it was a lot to swallow. “I...I want to apologize. I...went off the rails and...”

_“Connor told me he sent you home. He told me everything, kid.”_

That sting came to his eyes and nose again. Fuck them for being so fucking selfless. “Yeah, yeah, figure Wonderboy would do that." He swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing aside those watery sensations. "Look, I need to come back just...I need Fowler to hear me out. I want-I need to do this. I want to help."

 _“Kid,”_ hank sighed. _“Fowler ain’t gonna let you in on this. It’s too personal.”_

“I don’t care, at least let him hear what I have to say.” He insisted gently. He reigned in his anger. He traded it for firmness.

A sigh. The sound of the water hitting the rocks below. A traffic horn and the sound of a plane overhead.

_“Fine. What’d you got?”_

“The bust isn’t fucked up yet. What if we had a chance to still get them?”

 _“Okay?”_ He was reluctant to hear his plan, but Sixty could hear the curiosity in his voice. _“What the fuck did you cook up in that head of yours?”_

Sixty smiled in relief. He lifted his head with newfound energy he had never felt before.

 

The android walked into the precinct, the eyes upon him feeling heavier than ever before. Normally he was able to brush off their stares with no effort at all. Who gave a fuck what they thought. But this time he had gone off the rails and again guilt weighed heavy on his chest. Hank was waiting for him by the office with his arms crossed and a stern glare in his eye.

Sixty slowed in his approach and finally had the balls to make eye contact with icy blues. He felt like Sumo with his tail between his legs when he shat on the living room rug.

“Fowler ain't gonna have any bullshit, Sixty. He's still gonna suspend you, but whatever plan you have he's curious enough to let you stand here."

“I know.” He murmured.

Then the stern critical glance from his eye dissipated and was replaced with concern and pride. He reached forward clamping his hand on his shoulder, rubbing the sore muscle relays underneath.

“You did good kid. Trust me. I'm proud of you. For doing this." He nodded once before slapping his shoulder. "Get in there." He looked at him for a moment longer before turning and walking away for the sake of privacy. Sixty turned to watch after the man saunter away, and a small smile came to his lips.

He looked up to the door, the foggy glass already activated for privacy. For the third time in his life, he was to be in the office. He set his expression firm.

“Third time’s the charm.” He murmured.

He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

“Come in," was the gruff response.

He cringed at the voice worn by over use, no doubt from the shouting from previous encounters.

Sixty stepped through the door and closed it behind him. With only a few long strides, he stood before Fowler’s desk and waited.

Fowler was finishing up typing something. A few clicks later and a firm glance up to the android was his go-ahead to start talking. And fast. The patience was long gone from his expression.

There were no words to be said. Sixty took the permission to speak.

“I apologize for my behavior.” He started out rather dumbly. He flinched and rolled his eyes at himself. Taking the prim and proper route wasn’t going to work.

“Look, I fucked up, okay? I know I did. I...mean..." He sighed again and sat heavily in the chair in front of the captain's desk. Whether or not he had permission to sit down, he didn't fucking care. Today was exhausting and taking its toll on his body. And that was just from all the mental journeys.

“It's no excuse, but I have a lot of bullshit I need to work through yet, and sometimes I don't know it bleeds into work and my emotions get tied up."

“I know your history, Sixty. And I know you have your issues.” He replied evenly and fairly. He steeples his fingers together patiently. “Everyone does. It doesn’t make you special.”

Sixty flinched. It was a harsh truth, and he appreciated the humbling observation. He took in a deep breath to steel his nerves. "I want to help. I...have a plan."

Fowler nodded.

For some odd reason, the lack of emotions or any input from the man was making his nerves nervous. Why? He wasn't too sure. Was this a test? Fuck, he hoped not. He was failing miserably so far.

“I want in on this mission. Look, I don't trust myself with a gun but this time and this time only I will, just to save my brother and if I fuck up..." He was grasping at straws. "I'll take the belt, fuck decommission me if you have to, pick me apart for a computer. I just want Nines _safe_.

Fowler raised an eyebrow. “Without fucking the bust over.” HE paused. “Erm, sir.” He scrambled to keep going. “I think it’s not over yet.”

“And why should I trust you?” His sudden, loud, and stern voice had him pausing. He watched as the man before him placed an astray paper to the corner of his desk neatly. His motions were smooth and steady. He held dominance over this room easily from just his gestures.

Oh yeah. He was grasping at straws now. "I'm fixable. Humans aren't. If shit were to hit the fan, Humpty dumpy can be put back together again."

Fowler crossed something off on a pad nearby his desktop. “And just to entertain me, what do you propose?”

He smiled, sitting up in the seat. He was in. "We give them what they want."

“You were against that." He flicked dark eyes up to him. Sixty sighed. He was giving him a hard time purposely. Sixty didn't blame him. He would bust his balls too if Sixty crossed the line.

“We set up a trap. Listen, when was the last time a drug gang called a precinct to make a deal? It’s a naive drug gang. They wouldn’t have made it if they weren’t cocky.”

“That’s a lot to assume. You don’t even have the case files.”

“You can fix that, you know.” Sixty countered.

Fowler narrowed his eyes in warning. Sixty didn't care. From the other corner of the desk, he slid over a datapad. Sixty noted a thick wedding band, embedded into skin from its wear over so many years.

Sixty smiled, lifting a hand that was already pearly white to access the files. It only took a moment. He never took his eyes off of him.

“Gavin and Nines were going after the big dogs?” His voice was curious.

Fowler nodded. "They had a breakthrough, and they took it."

“Of course they would.” Sixty mumbled shaking his head. “Terry Micheals. Donovan has a little runt, huh?”

“They were tracking Donovan’s cartel but instead found his son. Get the son, get Donovan’s cartel and twenty percent of the red ice market.”

He didn’t waste time making his assumption. “He wants to step into daddy’s shoes, prove his skin to get his attention. Why else would he go straight to the big bads in blue?”

Fowler nodded again, his demeanor softening. He was getting somewhere. “We couldn’t fuck this up, Sixty. We can’t. And you going in like you were before would mess it all up. _Twenty_ percent of the market. Do you understand?”

“I do.” Sixty bit his lip. A tad of shame crawled into his mind. He pushed it aside. The captain was favoring him once more. No time to cow tail now. “Does Connor know?”

“No. This was strictly Nines and Gavin's case. Before Gavin investigated android crimes, he was part of narcotics. With Nines, the case would be solved in no time."

A heavy silence fell over them both. Nines was killer when it came to his job, and there was no doubt. After all, he was a military-grade android with the best of the best technologies and software. What they could have done to take _him_ down made Sixty’s skin crawl.

“I apologize, Sixty.”

The android lifted his head and smiled uneasily. "Um...what for?" He brushed his thumb across his nose to ease the awkwardness he felt. It wasn't every day that your superior officer bowed to his ass.

“I as well reacted in a way that was unprofessional. I care for my men. Their lives are my duty to protect. You are hardworking, loyal, and smart. You are still young and fresh from deviating and _considering,”_ He noted the word heavily purposely to not go back on his previous statement. "your past, I have failed to take into account special accommodations for you. Every man and woman in this building offers something different, and you are no less."

Sixty licked his lips uneasily. Never was he used to being on the receiving end of such pleasantries and compliments. Sure he could have been an asshole and brushed it off. But he was too genuine. Even he couldn’t do that to Fowler. “I’m-ah...I apologize too. Captain. Honest.”

Fowler ticked his head. "I see why Hank defends your sorry ass all the time. Just from this conversation, I hope you've learned a valuable lesson."

“And what's that?" He asked carefully, eyes widening in fear. He hoped he wasn't going to turn on the waterworks. Oh, rA9 that's the last thing his body needed doing in front of _him_.

Fowler leaned forward his hands clasping together. His voice became louder and firm. “We are here to help you, Sixty. And know that no matter what, we will have your back. We aren’t your enemy and never will be. We’re family here. We look out for one another. Remember that.”

Sixty exhaled in relief. That wasn't so bad. He smiled. It was genuine and never before had he felt such a sensation as this. It was warm and bloomed from his chest outward. His words were spoken true. "Thank you, sir." He bowed his head, respectively.

“Alright.” That was that. “So,” he leaned back in his chair. “What do you propose?”

Sixty did a double-take, incredulity taking over his joy. “’Scuse me?"

“What do you think is the best course of action? Hank was telling me you had a plan. Let’s hear it.”

And with that, the android was back into the blue fold. “Well,” Sixty brushed back his hair and laughed. “Let me make a call.”

 

Fowler, Chris, Connor, and Hank were gathered around Sixty. He was leaning against the table, hands splayed out before him. He stared at the phone before him on speaker. Doing it through his own communications would allow the others to hone in on the deal that was to go down now.

Chris was sitting by his side, one earphone on and the other off. The crumpled piece of paper that the secretary had written on was before him in a plastic evidence bag. Chris dialed the number on it and gave him a thumbs up. “You’re connected.”

Everyone went silent. Sixty scrunched his eyebrows together as the tone echoed in the room. It was on the fourth ring when he lost hope.

On the fifth, it picked up, and his hands curled into fists.

 _“Yeah?”_ A voice picked up the phone with a curt and grizzly voice.

“You have something of mine.” Sixty cut to the chase. Direct and firm.

_“Who the fuck are you? I owe many people things you have to be more specific. Also, I have no patience. Hurry it up, asshole.”_

Sixty ticked his head. “Detroit Police here. You have two of my officers.”

 _“Oh,”_ Terry Micheals’ voice took on a melodic tone, ringing in the room around them. “ _Right, right, and let me guess you want them back?”_

He wanted to laugh. A smile broke through, his teeth gritted. “You want your thirium?” Sixty was smart to stay straight forward.

 _“Just like that, huh?”_ His voice became dim as he spoke away from the phone. _“Man you guys must be pretty fucking important.”_

Sixty’s thirium pump skipped a beat. He looked up to Hank with a nod. It was confirmed. “They’re there with him. Track the call.” Hank whispered to Chris lowly.

“Right.”

“They are, the best of the best. Good job.” Stroke the ego…

_“I knew it. Hah! Alright, give me ten trunks of the blue, and you can have them. Done deal, blue.”_

“Deal.”

_“Fuck man, you’re too easy.”_

“Why waste time? No need for pussy-footing.” There was a chuckle from the other end. Sharp brown eyes narrowed. “Where am I meeting you?”

As the address was read out, Chris confirmed the call and matched the address that was tracked. He wasn’t lying. Good so far.

“We’ll meet you there in two hours. Have my men ready and unharmed, and you can have the thirium.” Sixty promised. He stared ahead at the opposite, stern and focused. He hoped for a favorable reply.

 _“Like-wise.”_ He practically sang back to him. _“And no fuckin’ funny business or else they get the lead in the head.”_

The phone was heard being shuffled away, and heavy breathing was heard. Terry ordered whomever to speak to talk. But they didn’t. Ordered them to beg. They wouldn’t beg.  
A hash thump, a groan of pain, and a curse that sounded like Gavin.

 _“Got it, blue?”_ Terry’s smile was heard.

“Of course.” He smiled, flicking critical eyes up to Fowler. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He gritted.

 _“I doubt it.”_ The human cackled and hung up the phone.

Sixty stood at the table, his arms locked into place as the fire rose into his throat. Cocky little son of- He stepped away from the table and tossed the phone away. He ran a half-circle reigning in his anger. “Fucking scumbag.” He spat.

The others allowed the android to express his emotions. He was harmless and in no way looking to harm those around him. He was frustrated. Connor was quick to refocus him. “We have their location. We have the team and the thirium, Sixty.” He assured.

He leaned forward, turning him to force him to look into determined brown eyes and witness a steely yellow LED. He nodded once. “Yeah...yeah, right. Okay.” He murmured. He took in a deep breath.

“What’s next Sixty?” Chris tipped his head at him. He looked at four sets of confident eyes.

He shrugged with a halfhearted smile. “Shit, the fun part. Set up the team and we meet them at the warehouse. They back out on their word and I go in. Connor and I both know there's a high probability of that.” He huffed, placing one hand on his hip and the other to card through his hair.

“Are you sure we can take that risk of them falling into the trap, kid?” Hank asked again just to confirm any doubts.

The sandy blonde android dropped his heand to his lap and looked over to Connor. Connor was quick to come to his defense. “There’s always a possibility of a plan going awry but also in our favor. The overconfidence Terry Micheals is displaying is working towards our advantage. We are organized and focused, and he is a child acting under instinct. It will work.”

Sixty’s eyes crinkled in humor, and he huffed a short laugh. Having your brother’s affirmation felt good. “And that’s when I swoop in as agreed.” He glanced over to Fowler. “Well, give the word Captain crunch. Let’s do this.” He punched him in the shoulder though the captain remained unfazed and aloof.

The room went quiet and tense. He looked down to where the jovial punch was landed and then lifted critical eyes to him.

“One wrong move...Sixty.” He warned lowly.

“I won’t.” He bit, firm in his stance.

Dark eyes remained steady upon him for a moment. “ _Fine_.”

Sixty released a slow long exhale as if the glare had been holding him by his throat.

“Get a team ready. We go in in an hour.”

 

Proudly donned in black tactical gear displaying the Detroit police emblem upon his shoulder, Sixty stepped towards the edge of the building looking down into the warehouse. From here, through the broken glass ceiling and metal, he could see the guards walking around their patrols. Within, an SUV was being loaded with black cases. All ten of them.

The fake deal with the very real product was going down and set up like a perfect play.

They fucked with the wrong android. He shouldered his rifle fiddling with the toothpick in his mouth. He had to fiddle with something. His hands were going to be busy. All that excess energy couldn’t fuck it up. His eyes trailed away from the deal going down to behind the armed guards.

There, the hostages were tied up. An android or two were already dead in their bindings against concrete pillars. Gavin and Nines were still alive tied up in old, tattered, office chairs. From here, from just a scan, Sixty could already tell Nines had lost more than an ample amount of thirium.

The undercover officers were ordered not to intervene and play the role of goodwill. They would hand over the thirium and then pull out. The deal would no doubt backfire and Terry wouldn’t keep their end. That’s where Sixty stepped in.

From a room off to the side, a clean-cut, suited, young man stepped forward to an unnamed android tied and bled of all its thirium next to Gavin. The android was barely holding on. His mouth barely moved. Words were exchanged.

Terry Michaels.

The son pressed the mouth of the barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger. Gavin was sprayed with its fucking processors. The human curled away with a curse. Nines jumped from the report. Nines was never so rattled up. They did a number on him.

“God damn it...” Sixty gritted. These humans were ruthless, but he could be as bad.

No doubt Nines would be next. They wanted every drop of thirium they could get.

Suddenly, Terry turned his gun onto the officers, and the rest of his lackeys did as well. Just as Sixty had predicted, he wanted his father's shoes, and he wanted to fill them. He backed out on his end of the bargain. "Cute." He snarled.

He watched as the young human brought out a cell phone and pressed it to his ear.

A call was connected to his internal communications. Sixty answered. A strong gust of cold mid-spring blew past, ruffling his gear and hair. Sixty didn't allow him to get in his first words. "Where are my men?" He spoke evenly and steadily, eyes never being taken off of the man on the phone below.

_“I’m sorry big blue, but I have to back out on my end.”_

Sixty could play the part perfectly. He could earn a fucking Grammy. "You son of a bitch!" He hissed. "Give me my men. We had a fucking deal!"

 _“Temper, temper, customer service needs a little work in the Detroit police department.”_ He turned his gun to Gavin, and Sixty's heart jumped to his throat. _"I wonder what kind of ice your RK900 here would make? Should we name it after him for his sake?"_

Sixty swallowed harshly fighting the urge to bark out every profanity and vow to make him suffer that was under the sun. Nines would be proud of his show of self-control.

He took the phone away from his ear. His voice was heard through the phone as his lips moved. _“Do as your boss says or he gets the lead!”_ Terry barked. Sixty had to fight every nerve from yelling out over the phone to not shoot, giving away everything. He bit his tongue.

Sixty changed channels giving the word. “Back out.”

Sixty watched as the officers were forced to retreat.

Terry smiled, bringing the phone back to his ear. _“You have a nice day, sir. It was a pleasure doing business with the Detroit police.”_ Terry hung up, and Sixty narrowed his eyes. Terry lowered his gun and struck Gavin across the temple with the butt of the weapon. His head hung forward limply. He was still moving. Nines...not so much. The SUV started up and slowly drove away.

The android sent the data to the precinct's dispatch. The trap set down the road would deal with that.

He waited until the undercover officers pulled out to their rendezvous point a few blocks away, successfully hidden. After Sixty made a mess and infiltrated the warehouse, they would swarm back in. From atop, he saw all. A wonderful play he himself orchestrated. It was now time to make his debut.

Gladly.

Slowly, he went to his knees sliding onto his belly, wielding the sniper rifle. He had held all sorts of weapons from across the world. Use them once, and he could take it apart and put them together. He could know when to fire. When to hold his breath. Where to shoot. How to shoot. How to make them bleed. Make them suffer. How to end it quick.

Killing was an art.

If he were to protect the ones he loved. He would do anything. Even go against his very promise to himself.

“So call me a fucking artist.” He murmured.

He pulled the trigger, his aim true, cracking through a human’s skull. Brain matter and fragments of bone flew through the air. The body tripped backward from the momentum and fell. “Popped like a pimple.” He muttered under his breath. He released a breath and drew in another as he backed away from the scope and reloaded, shell popping out and falling to the cement of the rooftop. It clicked and clattered before it rested.

Satisfaction filled him when he saw Terry on the alert looking over to the man that dropped dead out of nowhere.

Sixty peered through the scope once again. A breeze blew past. It was taken into consideration.

Purposely he aimed for the next human’s chest. The next was to die just as quickly.

He had to act fast. The nest was kicked. The wasps were on alert now.

The report sounded, but these humans would never find him.

The force of the bullet destroyed bone and muscle. He spun to the ground and remained still, crimson spilling on the ground. The sight burned, but Sixty remained true.

He went through four more humans before there was one little human left running to rid of the last remaining hostages.

A hurried and messy attempt to stay alive.

He was smart to stick close to the hostages. A smart human wouldn’t take the chance. But Sixty would and could. Terry pressed the barrel of his gun to Nine’s head. He growled. _Coward._

"And, today is your lucky day." He aimed with a sneer. “Now, sing." The report cracked, and so did the human's knee as it exploded and was rendered useless. Terry fell with a shout gun sliding just out of his grip and way.

Sixty wasted no time. He dropped the rifle, un-clipping another weapon from his belt. He took aim and fired into the warehouse, the zip line flew true. The claws successfully dug into the concrete of the pillar below. With a specialized clip, he latched onto the line and jumped. He soared through the night for only a moment before he fell through the glass, un-clipped himself, and tumbled to the ground. It was a messy landing and in no way movie perfection. He was in one piece, and that's all that mattered.

He groaned, standing up slowly. He cracked his neck from side to side and spat the now broken toothpick from his mouth. “Shame.”

“S-Sixty?” Nine’s barely there voice caught his attention. The brother turned around and found his brother drunkenly looking at him. He had to fight every nerve in his body from running over to him and freeing him from the wire cable, wrapped around his bloodied wrists and wounded chest. He had to fight the memory of seeing his brother’s head almost blown off. He had to stay focused.

“Hey, bro.” He ticked his head up. “You okay?” He breathed.

Nines nodded, the motion itself exhausted and tired.

“Jesus Christ plastic...Glad to see your fucking mug.” He leaned back in the chair, fresh blood trailing down the side of his face.

“Same to you, ass-vin.”

“Fucking- _what_?” Sixty turned towards the human on the ground. Blood trialed from where his knee was blown out. He had managed to crawl toward his handgun and aim it at him in shaky hands.

He was pointing the same gun that was aimed at his helpless and defenseless brother at him now. He sneered, stepping forward. Terry’s eyes frantically looked around himself. He was afraid, the little worm.

Sixty splayed out his hands with a shit-eating grin indicating his chaos. Chaos he did not want to create but had to stop. It was their choice to be on the opposite end of his barrel. To follow the man that dared to fuck with his family and dared to challenge him. All in his grasp. “Yeah babe, in the flesh now. _Surprise_ .” He lowered his hands, arms clapping to his sides. His gear rattled as he stalked forward. “So what will it be?” He pointed to the gun in his hand. “Go ahead and pull it. Shoot me. Do it you _fucking_ shit.”

“Sixty? What are you doing…?" Nines garbled from his side.

Not necessarily did he ignore him. “Teaching this fuck a lesson his daddy could never teach him.” He answered truthfully. His footfalls became more stern and heavy as he continued to hunt his prey down slowly. "When you hold a gun you kill, no pussyfooting, little man. You wanted to kill my brother? Should have done it like a man."

Terry pulled the trigger, but the bullet scathed his arm. Sixty didn’t falter. It burned but nothing more.

“Fucking coward. You can shoot someone helpless in the head, but when their balls are bigger than yours, you shit pellets."

“F-fucking crazy ass-!” He loved how the little man's voice cracked. How he tried to back away from him with just one good leg. The other turned in a grotesque angle.

He narrowed his eyes, fire burning in them. “You have no idea.”

The man just a few steps away released a frantic cry and hysterically cried as he fired the gun until it clicked empty. Each bullet met its mark in some part of his body. An arm, his leg, his chest, shoulder...the force of each one made him step back until he fell over.

He heard Gavin curse struggling against his binds while Nines barked out his name in fear. For a moment, Sixty laid on the ground in a daze. Each bullet was accounted for. Some made an exit some made homes in his biocomponets. A smile came to his lips as he moved to stand.

It felt good.

“That’s just great.” He gasped as he stood, motions shaky. “Holy shit, you actually did it!”His eyes glimmered in the light as he placed a hand over the bullet wounds in his chest and abdomen. The pain meant nothing. The fear of such a morbid sight the human saw was all too satisfying. "But I saved you for last, baby. Hope you like sloppy seconds."

“Wh- _what_?” He exchanged glances between the gun and the android. Against the twinkling night darkness and gear, blue slowly glittered from the holes. His eyes grew wider. “A-android?”

“Congratulations...” A slight curl came to his lips. “You have a brain.”

Terry lowered the gun.

“My turn.” The android took those last satisfying steps. And in one fluid, weightless motion, he easily lifted the human by his fancy suit in one clenched fist, slammed him into the concrete pillar. He snatched the gun from his hand. Pressed his body seductively against him, the mouth of the barrel doing the same to the bottom of his jaw.

Sixty smirked.

“P- _please_ I was just doing my job, family business y’ know? I got...I got so much to live for man."

“So do those that get hooked on your shit, _you fuck_.” Sixty spat, nose almost pressing against his own.

“Sixty...” Beyond the blood lust, he heard a soft voice. He ignored it. Fuck them. Fuck that voice beyond the veil. This was his moment to savor. To take full satisfaction from. He loved how the little human squirmed and cried out, bled from his knee and let out little pained gasps when his body pressed into him further. He deserved this. He deserved so much more...

Through his own skin and clothing, he felt his heart pitter-patter, the gasps he took expanding bone and cartilage. His breath was sweet from adrenaline running through his veins. It was fucking intoxicating to be the one to cause such deserving fear.

“You threw out that chance the moment you brought harm to my brother and his dog. Try me again, babe.” He breathed raggedly, his body becoming hot. Too hot...too much and not enough.

He dug the mouth of the gun further into soft skin. His hands moved to push him off but Sixty, an android, was stronger. Muscle relays could outdo a human’s soft flesh any day.

Disheveled hair fluttered into his eyes as the human looked him in the eyes. “Look-look keep me alive and-and I’ll tell you all ya need to know just-!” A wet spot grew from between his pants. “Just let me live, man, please!” He cried.

“Sixty...s-shut it down!”

That voice beyond the fog spoke again, and his breath hitched. It took all of their strength to shout his name. To just _fucking_ speak. The android peered over his shoulder for but a moment. He saw Nines leaning forward, weakened but his words were just as strong as ever.

A flick of a desperate smile came to his lips as soon as he successfully caught his brother’s attention. It disappeared as quick as it appeared. “Don’t do it.”

The heat in his veins settled, his breathing slowed. The racing thoughts and dangerous desires were no longer shouting voices but whispers.

Through a million voices, one spoke through.

Sixty turned back to the man and sneered and groaned in disappointment, like a child being told it was time to get out of the lake for lunch. He lowered him to his good leg. “Oh thank you, thank you- th-!”

The android rolled his eyes and growled in annoyance. With a fistful of hair, he slammed the human's head into the concrete pillar, knocking him out. Sixty tossed Terry’s dead weight aside and looked down to him in disgust tossing the gun on his ass.

“You emptied the clip.” He looked away from him, stepped over his body. “ _Dumbass_.”

He walked towards Nines and Gavin and crouched in front of them. Pulling a Swiss army knife from his pocket, he pulled at Gavin’s wires. Nines continued to look him over. “Proud of you...”

“Yeah, yeah...whatever.” He dismissed his brother with a soft smile as he clipped Gavin free. Gavin was worse for wear. A scan indicated broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. A bloody nose looked good on him. The human exhaled in relief as he untangled himself with his good arm.

He turned to Nines scanning over his body. His thirium levels were well under thirty percent and lessening by the moment. Blue and muddy splotches stained his usually white jacket and uniform.

Gavin stood up and cringed leaning forward to stretch out sore muscles. Sixty wasn’t completely an asshole. He was worried for him. Who knows how long they were here at this location.

“You good Ass-vin?”

“Fuck you...”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” He murmured to himself, clipping the wires off of his bother and holding him close when his limp body slumped forward. He lowered them both to the ground draping his brother across his lap. Ignoring his own pain, Gavin was quick to crouch down next to them both. His one arm hung uselessly next to his body, the other was quick to part his jacket and lift his shirt to press into a wound near his thirium pump.

"They got it from the source," he supplied easily. " _Fuckers_...”

And no doubt Gavin had to watch it happen, helpless to help his partner. Just like with the other androids nearby. He felt for the human. He offered a small smile in comfort as Sixty brushed back Nine’s messy hair. “You’re lucky you fuck my brother or I would have left you behind.” Comic relief was never his strong suit.

A breath of laughter left the human, and Sixty smiled as well. It wasn’t a complex translation. _Thanks. You’re family too._

A hand was felt on his arm, and Sixty looked down. “You alright?” Nines rasped.

Sixty rolled his eyes. "Pain doesn't hurt, and thirium levels are fine. Shut up. This isn’t ‘bout me.” He shook his head, eyebrows pinching in concern.

Nines smiled though it was traded fro a grimace as Gavin pressed his hand into his chest more firmly. Blue seeped through his fingers.

“The fun is over here but let the real shit start, yeah?” They had to be quick. Over the internal communication line, he called his brother. “Big dick to little dick!”

“ _Sixty, this is-never mind! Where have you been? We were getting worried. Are Gavin and Nines safe?”_

"Yeah well, get the units here. I found goody-goodier two shoes and Ass-vin. Bring a technician or two.”

_“On our way. The trap was a success, Sixty. Fowler's more than pleased.”_

“Well, look at that. My plan worked after all." He said aloud and returned to the conversation. "Yeah, that's great. Just get here asap."

Nine’s hand moved and clutched his own in a rare show of what could only be his brand of affection. He looked down, ruffling his hair with a curse. Soft shit was gross.

“And yeah, Nines is safe.”

 

Sixty remained by Nine’s side until back up arrived. He too was losing thirium but not as fast as his brother. By now Nines had gone into an emergency stasis to preserve as much energy as he could. Gavin however, helped another hostage that was found in the nearby cargo case. Only four were found alive, including Gavin and his brother.

When Connor and Hank came behind a sweeping team of S.W.A.T., Sixty stood from his brother, just in time to get out of a technicians’ way. Nines was out of his hands now. He allowed the androids to do their job.

He held his abdomen and stretched out a bit with a wince. A few of the bullets were still wedged inside him. Someone would have a field day playing operation with him.

“Fun’s over.” Sixty gestured towards Terry’s prone body and looked up to see not only Hank and Connor but Fowler himself trailing behind. He had his hands in the pockets of a long dark trench coat. His firm gaze remained on the android before him, observing him in all his bloody glory. Sixty flicked his head to part the bangs of his head. A charming smile reached his lips. “He’s all yours, sir. As promised. I forgot the bow.”

Hank’s shoulders slumped in relief, and Connor nodded his head towards his brother with an amused smile. He was proud of him.

"Good work, Sixty." He walked forward, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You're still suspended though." He stepped away, ordering another technician to look over him as well promptly. As he walked away, he was already barking out the order. To have the captain himself here would no doubt be food for the piranhas that were the news channels. “And get a perimeter in the area! I want no one sticking their noses into our shit!”

He smiled devilishly as a female tech came over to him, assessing his injuries with a direct interface. Hank was tending to Gavin while Connor met him halfway.

“Good work.”

He _did_ good and didn’t make a mess. He may have added to the cursed number he held as a burden, but it didn't feel as heavy as before.

40.

“Feel like shit though.” He confessed with a chuckle and looked to the android. “Though I think I’m in good hands now, right babe?”

She rolled her eyes as she called for a gurney. Nines was already being rolled away and Gavin was guided to the back of an ambulance. He felt tired, and Connor was sure to remain by his side.

Hank was quick to meet him. “Sometimes, I think you are the resilient one." He looked him over in concern. His expression was firm, but Sixty saw the soft fatherly emotions take over.

“Nah, just got my methods of survival, old man.” He chuckled, head swimming.

“If that's what you call it." His voice was filled with doubt as he hooked his arm under Sixty's.

“Nines? He good? Is he good?" He muttered. Everything was getting foggy and drunk.

“Yeah, they’re giving him a good few pouches as we speak, just to keep him above water. He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine too, son.”

“Good...good...” He didn’t know how or when but a gurney was next to him and he gladly laid on it.

It felt good. He did good. He had to keep assuring himself. It was an easy mess for Fowler to cover up. He was still suspended for a week as punishment for going off the rails towards his superior though. Saving his brother and his human in exchange for a week of Sumo slobber?

He closed his eyes, everything turning numb. He’d take it any day.

 

It was three days later that both of the brothers were released and stamped with a clean bill of health. Nines was placed on boosted thirium while Sixty was to take care with healing muscle relays.

It didn’t stop either of them nor Connor from sharing a friendly spar among brothers. The idea was first proposed to Connor based on the experience holding him back from practically ripping Fowler apart.

“It took all I had to get him back.”

Nines took a swing at Connor who dodged flawlessly. His LED continued to circle a constant pleasant yellow, ever thinking a step ahead of his younger brother. Sixty watched with interest. Learning. Taking metaphorical notes. It was always fun to try and one-up one another.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Connor grunted. “Loose cannon you are after all.”

“Terry had me fired up okay?” Sixty didn’t fight for his pride. He knew he was in the wrong, though that didn’t mean he couldn’t smirk about it.

Terry had bent over for them as soon as he saw the sight of Sixty's crossed arms in the interrogation room. That stroked Sixty's humor and ego a little too much. Nothing like a little manhandling and a fear factor to have the gimp talking.

The new objective to take down the key locations of the labs was to be treated delicately. It was no longer in their hands. F.B.I. was now taking it. It was a bittersweet ending to their hard work, but Gavin and Nines were glad it was the first step towards a huge bust.

As for him? He was enjoying his suspension to take some time for himself. It was punishment, of course, but Sixty learned his lesson already.

Nines tackled his older brother to the ground, successfully pinning him down with a firm thud and grunt of pain. Connor tapped out, and he chuckled going limp in surrender. “You’re getting better.”

Nines released him from the pin and rose onto his knees before he stood fully. He reached a hand forward, and Connor took the offer. He easily hefted Connor up onto his feet. “I try to, brother.”

Sixty loved how both of their LED’s circled such a pleasant blue. It suited them nicely. One day he would have a conversation about why they both kept it. He was very sure why he got rid of his.

Connor turned towards Sixty. You youngest of the three rubbed his hands together, eyes brightening. “My turn, Wonderboy!” His enthusiastic voice echoed throughout the precincts’ gym.  
The brunette smirked, waving him over to the sparring circle. Nines stepped off respectively, brushing his hair back.

They stood on opposite ends squaring up before they both surged forward. Sixty jabbed at him before dodging a block from his brother. Connor spun onto one foot, swinging it into his side where the blow was taken with a harsh gasp. He realized too late Sixty had gripped his ankle. With a grunt, the android tossed his brother aside. Connor used the momentum to roll and curl into a defensive stance on one knee, his hands turning into firm fists.

“That was dirty.” He pouted.

Sixty was quick to defend himself. “No, no, this is exactly what we did at the tower.”

“This isn’t the tower.” Connor charged forward in a football tackle taking his brother by the abdomen. Sixty struck down with his elbow, hugged him by his upper back and squeezed tightly, fists purposely digging into his thirium pump.

Connor gasped, released him falling to his hands and knees.

He looked up and growled. “Sixty! Come on!”

He raised his hands up in mock insult. “It’s in my programming to be slimy, come on you should know better!”

Connor’s LED was putting on a pretty cherry red light show. “That’s still not fair. Sparring is to be fair.” Nines remarked.

“Shut up peanut gallery.” Sixty spat back.

Nines rolled his eyes.

“And since when?” He clipped back at the eldest brother.

“Since ancient times. When one commits to another in a spar, it is to be fair and-” Connor stopped upon his brother opening and closing his hand in the universal _“blah blah blah”_ gesture.  
His shoulders slumped. “Are you even listening?”

“You lost me at fair, again.”

“ _Guys,_ behave.” Nine’s exasperated voice came from the side.

It was ignored. Connor stood onto his feet, nodding. “Mature.”

Sixty smiled his signature shit-eating grin. "I'm the youngest I'm allowed to be. Isn't that the point?"

“Guys!”

“What?!” Sixty turned to Nines, rolling his head and eyes in dramatic annoyance.

“Just fight.” He droned. He shrugged though a smile came to his lips. He was humored, and that was a win in his scorebook. "Either way we’re learning and spending time with one another.” He smiled upon them both in exasperation.

“I need thirium anyway," Connor confessed. Sixty shook out his hair to make it into its signature messy look and moved to the edge of the circle along with his brother.

“Pussy.” He kicked at his leg to trip him. The eldest brother recovered and shot him a look. Sixty continued on his way as if nothing happened. He reached into a duffle bag and tossed his brother a pouch and got himself one.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, Wonderboy.” He bowed in an exaggerated flourish.

Connor drank from it ticking his head in annoyance at him though it was halfhearted. He knew deep down, Connor enjoyed his antics, as shown by the yellow of a thinking LED.

Nines walked over to them both.

“Hey, Sixty?”

The sandy blonde of the two twins looked up, raising his eyebrows as he drank, acknowledging he was listening to him. Before he spoke a word, he swallowed quickly raising a hand to him. "Wait, wait wait, my deep conversation senses are tingling."

He continued on, Connor smacking him in the back to signal him to shut up.

“I want to let you know I was wrong to treat you the way I have. I have been only trying to help, but...I failed to take into consideration your personality and traits. I was assuming the worst of you."

Sixty lowered his packet of thirium and looked over to Connor, who made no indication he was in on this. As a matter of fact, he was undressing from the comfortable sweats and t-shirt he was in. He made no indication he was listening at all.

He turned back to a calm and focused Nines. He made a show of peering at his LED. It wasn't red, so he wasn't lying. Because it did turn red when he lied. Gavin told him so. He couldn't deny it. So...this? This was all Nines. He was confessing and apologizing not because he was told to? Well shit.

“I have to learn to put more faith in you. I'm sorry."

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Never would he ever think that Nines would come to him and apologize for the harsh ways he had been treating him. Even if they were to help him he acknowledged the fact it was the wrong way to help. He felt on the spot and awkward because of said apology but, deep down, past the immaturity he appreciated it like nothing else.

It was quiet, and for a moment, he didn't realize this was the time to respond. He cleared his throat, but it didn't help. Sixty’s voice was oddly soft, scratchy and sharp unlike Connors’ when it got this low. “Well, I guess...no matter how messed up I am, or how dumb I get, or whatever I fucking do, you’re-”

And hello, there was that fucking burn in his eyes and nose. His throat closed in on him. And his words choked his voice modulator. He placed a hand over his mouth and firmly swiped it over his chin. “You’re my family. I will always have your back. And you’re all I have.”

He shrugged, turning to look at Connor, who had effortlessly dressed in jeans and a button-up shirt. He still made no indication he was listening.

“I hope you guys feel the same for me because...I don’t think I could take that betrayal, you know?”

Tears were definitely in his eyes. In the middle of the room, he felt exposed and vulnerable to any sort of attack. “I have no one else. It was always me.”

“Not anymore." Nines' firm voice made him jump.

Connor turned to face his brother adjusting the buttons to his cuffs. “You have us now. Hank and the precinct, Sixty. We’re all here for you just like you were for us.”

A watery smile flicked at his mouth as a sob tried to slip past. He nodded quickly in self-assurance. “Yeah...yeah, ah...thanks I...” He rubbed at his eyes. “I fucking hate crying.” He confessed in a matter of factly voice.

“That’s fine. Being in tune with your emotions is alright. Showing them makes you stronger. Hiding them makes you weak for being ashamed of them. Remember that.”

"Oh, yeah, mister I never show emotion." He flicked his finger under Nines' nose. He was glad for the way his brother smirked.

He turned away towards his bag. “I have to get back to work.” Nines sighed. “Gavin’s expecting me to write his reports. He’s terrible composing them.”

Connor smirked. “He just doesn’t want to do them.”

“Maybe so.” A fond chuckle.

“I have to go as well. Hank's lunch is beginning soon, and I rather not have him go to Chicken Feed again.

Sixty crossed his arms. “And I’m the only one without a human pet to take care of. It feels good to be free.” He mocked.

Nines gathered his belongings, favoring to change in the locker room than out in the open like his brother.

"I enjoyed this. Really." Sixty smiled, turning to his brothers. “I like _this_.” He gestured to the three of them and the room. “Y’know?”

Nines shared a look towards Connor that did not get unnoticed by Sixty. “We did too. Get some rest and feed Sumo. Hank and I won’t be back until late tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, and don’t work too hard.” Sixty patted Nines gently on the chest where the still healing wound lay. He cleared his throat.

“Okay losers, enough feels for one day.” He placed his hands atop his head and walked away towards the lift. The two other brothers followed.

In the lift, Sixty reached into his pants pocket and brought out a piece of gum.

“Why do you even chew that?”

“The sugar can destroy your systems.” Connor agreed, taking the label from Sixty to observe it. He licked it in touristy and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “See? Good, right?” He messily said through obnoxious chewing.

When they reached the upper floor, Sixty placed a finger up chewing faster. “It’s the flavor that’s the best.”

“Whatever...just get home safe.” Connor clapped him on the shoulder and Sixty smiled easily. When he watched them leave, he made sure he wasn’t being watched. Causally he strolled to the bullpen.

To Sixty’s luck, Ass-vin wasn’t at his desk.

As he walked by he spat the piece of gum out into his hand, and smoothly stuck the wad of gum under his desk and walked off. No one found out who the fuck was doing it yet.

 

It was a quiet evening. Connor was in the yard playing with Sumo, his booming bark echoing through the neighborhood every so often when the dog wanted the android to throw the damned ball.

Sixty sat at the kitchen table as instructed by Hank.

“Is this the birds and the bees talk, dad?" He smirked when he saw him come from around the corner from the hall. He had a soft smile upon his thin lips but nothing more. Instead, his eyes were focused on a shoebox held lovingly in his hands.

He set it down carefully on the table and sat across from the android. He pushed it forward.

“What...is this?”

"Open it," Hank instructed.

“Is it a dead bird?”

“Son,” he said firmly. “Open it.”

He used his stern voice, and Sixty knew better than to joke any further. He did as he was told opening the top to the size eleven heavy boots in gunmetal gray color. It was kept in pristine condition despite the worn corners.

He looked down and within were colorings of a young child. He flicked nervous eyes up to the old man and then backed down. Gently he took the colorings out. A tree and a sky with comical clouds in it. Stick figures of mom, dad, and the child.

The dad was in a police uniform while the mom was donned in nurse scrubs.

He looked up to him, not yet connecting the dots quite yet. Hank only indicated for him to continue with a sweep of his hand. He pulled the pictures out revealing photos and stuffed miniature bear.

He took the bear into his hands, brushing delicate thumbs across the chest of it. It smelled old and worn, but there was proof that this bear shared many hugs. Tears. Laughs. So much love.

He placed it aside and paused upon the photo: Hank, a woman, and a young boy.

He didn't want to scan the photo. By gods above and below, he didn't. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took the pile of photos, delicately flicking through them one by one. The same boy, running through the park with a balloon, happily holding the woman’s hand.

Another was a photo of Hank and the little boy upon his shoulders, reaching up towards the sky. It was a beautiful sunset at the fair.

Another when they were all at the Zoo. Another when they were on vacation at a beach. And then the last photo was of the woman holding her newborn baby in her arms. She was crying, and so was the young version of the man before him. They were so very, very, happy.

Sixty placed them back in the box and didn’t bother to go through the other knick-knacks or jewelry that no doubt belonged to the woman.

“Cole and Barbara.” His voice was just a scratchy as his beard.

Sixty nodded solemnly, his motions purposelessly slow and quiet. He didn't know what to say at the moment, and he didn't think he could. Sixty had never dealt with loss or the funny ways that life worked its cruelty. But he could feel sympathy and sadness. He was glad Cyberlife gave him that liberty. He wondered where his wife took his son.

“It was easy to talk to you that day because family is something I was always good at. Handling a son in need was second nature. Connor, you, and Nines are mine. It’s my job to take care of all three of you. Remember that.” He murmured softly.

He took in a deep breath. “So...” And sighed it in a soft voice.

“You have a little gremlin of your own.”

“Had.”

It was worse than a bullet through his chest. Worse than torture. Worse than finding out your favorite TV show was fucking canceled. It was worse than anything he had ever experienced. Because if one person didn't deserve the cruel hand of fate, it was the man sitting across from him.

“I’m so sorry, Hank.” And he fucking meant it.

He just wanted to know why he was telling him _now._

“I am too.” He nodded. He scratched his nose ridding of the burn. His eyes twinkled in the kitchen lighting. "Cole was six, and Barb was thirty-two. I lost them both in an accident.”

Sixty wanted to hold his hand and hug him close. He didn’t deserve this pain. His eyebrows creased in pain. “You didn’t have to tell me if you weren’t ready, Hank.”

“You deserved to know. Connor knows, and so does Nines. You’re family now, kid.” A watery smile crossed his lips as he reached forward and took his hand into his own, patting it. “It was time you knew.”

Sixty looked down at his hand and clutched it so tightly. It felt good to have a tangible touch like this. It felt good to be trusted like this. He liked it. A lot.

He didn't smile though he wanted to. It wasn't appropriate, but rA9 did his heart feel so strange in this moment. The tip-tap of claws upon the linoleum floor of the kitchen made them look over to Connor whose shoulders were slumped in relief as he looked between them both. Gently he sat next to Sixty and placed his hand upon their own.

“You were ready.” This had been Connors doing. “To know.”

“We’re proud of you.” Hank rasped.

They remained together as Hank explained his past and hos skeletons in his closet. How Connor was his saving grace. How he was so scared to ever lose any of his adopted sons. Flesh or plastimetal. They were still his.

It felt good to know that Sixty wasn't the only one with such damned things, to know the man he looked up to the most wasn’t at all perfect.

He was human.


	4. REASON #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait lovelies! I was taking a break from the (hell) endeavor that was whumptober XD no doubt i loved every moment but woo shit damn son was it a mess. Anyway thank you for stopping by, leaving, kudos and comments! Enjoy!
> 
> If you guys are interested, I have a playlist based on my take on Sixty’s personalty on Spotify. I also use this playlist to write many of the scenes in the fic as a moodsetter. Give it a listen!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2y8jSNNgwg3Ju9qQnkPS2X?si=RX6lhdc1RrGvIxMC-iPsOw
> 
> Find me on tumblr and drop a line! @technohumanlation

* * *

He is good

* * *

 

 

It was getting late. The android knew this, and yet he didn’t make a move to, well,  _ move _ . This park was his h a ven when everything just didn’t make sense. When thoughts roamed a little too freely. When life seemed to not make a lick of sense or rush by a little too quickly. Sometimes, when he needed to just sort shit out, he would return to the same park, the same spot by the guardrail, and lean over it. He would watch the twinkling city lights come to life. Listen to the heartbeat of the city beyond. Watch the ferry go back and forth lazily.

Sixty would listen to the traffic, the distant sound of a nearby rock or classical concert, a traffic horn or ten interrupting the silence of the night. In the park, he would listen to a jogger gallop by or children playing. He would smell a nearby hot-dog stand that would have made the old man’s stomach growl.

Here, it seemed like everything had order and a pace that never was disrupted or thwarted. It was his own zen garden that wasn’t ruled by a crazy and deranged A.I. babysitter. Always an added plus.

Time passed by at its own accord, and Sixty didn't mind one bit. Everything here was out of his control, and that too was quite alright.

Back then, just a month ago, he wouldn’t have understood it all. He was no hippy, but this place offered some sort of energy he couldn't quite place his finger on. It was calm yet haunted. Soothing yet numbing. A different plane of existence, yet reality.

His own zen garden.

A month or so had gone by since he had been reactivated, and it felt as if it were a blink of an eye. In such a short period had he learned so much, too much, and yet had only gotten so far.

Being suspended until further notice rendered him with too much time. In such time he could only think so much. And think and thought was all he did. Sure, he would spend time with his brothers and perhaps give Tina a call to harass her. But sometimes that offered so little comfort to this fucking thing called time.

Too much  _ time  _ also had his mind empty, unoccupied, and free to do whatever. He would file through memories and sift through unorganized ones. He would try to remember the spaces in between and fail. He would then shuffle what he had found into their proper slots like he was going through vinyl records at a music store. 

Hank liked those. He bought him a few rare ones the old chap sold for a few bucks. Good for him.

Off-track.

Nines was already healed up.

Gavin’s shoulder was still a bit fucked but was in a sling for precaution.

Hank still worried about Sixty but not as much. Checked up on him here and there was the most he would do.

The android weaved his fingers through blonde hair, sighing heavily, the air in front of him clouding up. A visual representation of letting go of frustrations was satisfying to watch.

Sixty was broken out of his thoughts when someone pinged for his attention. Hank was calling. He smirked. “Yes, daddy?”

“Hey, kid. What are you up to?”

Sixty stood up straight, looking over the river as the smirk turned into something softer. His voice was breathy. “Picking up a few boys and gals. Planned on having an orgy in your living room tonight. You in?”

Hank’s breathy laugh was genuine. “Nah, kid, those days are long gone."

“Shoot Hank, thought you would bite at that.” He chuckled. “I’m at the park, what about you?”

“Just got home, was wondering where you were, was all. Can you do me a favor? Connor’s at the precinct finishing up evidence filing. He was going to pick up my dinner at Jane’s but-.”

His answer was immediate. “I got it.” The hole in the wall restaurant wasn’t that far away.

“Thanks, Sixty, you’re the best.”

“Never forget it, old man.”

A chuckle and then the conversation was over.

 

Sixty could admit the noodles smelled amazing. If he wanted to, he could have sneaked a bite, but again, he was in no mood to anger the new technician at the precinct.

She looked like a bitch.

With a hand in his pocket and with a smooth stride, he continued to walk down the street. A person or so passed by minding their own business as well.

But, in the corner of his eye, against the shadows cast by the street lamps, Sixty noticed a lone figure standing at the edge of a bridge. The breeze blew past him billowing his clothing. Sixty raised an eyebrow, and before he even knew it, he was walking over to the human.

He approached casually and stopped just so from him. "So, uh, what are you doing?" He inclined his head forward. He knew very well what he was doing. This was not how his night was planned. Yet here he was.

"F-fuck off asshole." His voice was choked and unsure. Unbalanced. He’s heard the same voice come from his own mouth before.

So.

"Okay." He shrugged nonchalantly and turned around to walk away.

The human’s shaky voice called to him from behind. "W-wait...you're not gonna stop me?"

The android smiled in victory. But he erased it. So far, the guise was working. "From?" He asked, bored without turning around.

"J-jumping, ya know? Ending it?"

Sixty finally turned to face the human catching the shadow of wet streaks down his face. His shirt was untucked from black business attire, and a dirty jacket was hanging off of his shoulders. "Buddy, if you wanted to do that, you would have done it a long time ago. So, stop wasting my time. I got my own shit to figure out." Another shrug. "C'ya."

"What the fuck...?" He murmured in confusion.

Sixty sighed and turned around, once again. "I gotta really get home...the old man is waiting for me, and I don't want to keep him."

Realization dawned upon the human as he narrowed his eyes to see in the dim lighting. "You're an android. You’re that android-"

It was Sixty's turn to be surprised. He thought for a moment, and then it clicked. "Uh no, no, I’m not wonderboy. I’m his brother.”

“Oh-oh, that's...you-you, androids have brothers? A dad?" His eyes narrowed further in confusion.

"What? Yeah, kinda. Adopted. You?" He took another step forward.

The man looked down at the flowing river below and then to him, a familiar sparkle growing in his eyes. "N-no. No. I have-have a daughter. Her name’s Brenna." Distraction achieved and obtained.

"Wife?"

Shakes his head. “Took everything I had...my money, my summer home, my car...my...”

Sixty nods. The poor bastard. He dropped the bag of noodles and placed his hands out, approaching carefully.

“I got fired! They said I was cut, but...I-how can I provide for her? How can she expect so much from such a deadbeat father? It's fucking useless. Everything! No matter what I do, it's just useless!" He turned towards the edge.

That familiar feeling of panic shot through his lines. He raised his hands and spoke quickly. He didn’t want this human to jump. Not if he had a say in it.

"Your daughter Brenna, she’s home. She’s waiting.” Sixty murmured gently. “She needs you.” He gestured to his body. “C’mon man, get down.”

He remained silent, observing him. He was patiently allowing the human to just think. Even if he decided last second to actually jump, Sixty would be faster. He was in reach to take him down.

"She might need dinner soon…"

“Exactly…." He urged the beginning thought, gently reaching out, allowing him to make the decision. In no way forcing him into something he didn't want but he had no choice. "...Come on."

Red eyes from frustrated tears flicked from the hand to his face searching for whatever he had doubts about.

Sixty raised his eyebrows and bounced his hand assuringly. The human reached forward hesitantly and finally took it in defeat. With such a simple gesture, the human had given up the battle and turned around with heavy limbs.

He was wordless as he squeezed his hand reassuringly and placed another on his shoulder, helping him step away from the edge. He turned the man around to face him.

"...I promised her princess mac and cheese." He choked.

Sixty squeezed his shoulder. "The best kind." A short moment of silence. “So...wanna talk? I mean...” Shit. Now what was he going to do? The guy was down off of the edge, but now what? He wasn't trained for this shit. So what would he _do_? Fuck, he would take the guy to Eden Club and get him the whole fucking night with three Traci girls.

But...this was so very real. And that was so very inappropriate. He continued to sort through every single thought and impulse to try and figure out the proper way of simply helping this human.

He looked back up to him. His daughter seemed to be at the forefront of his mind. The only string that kept him connected to the living world.

“You got a kid who’s expecting you home, needs you, you know? How old is she?” He blurted perhaps a little too desperately. He cleared his throat, a too human gesture he didn't need to perform, but he did. To erase the unease, he felt. No matter what, his mission was to help this man.

“Ten.”

Sixty beamed. An honest sign of humor. “Ah, brat years. Beautiful.” He meant it too.

And for the first time, he was rewarded with a small smile. It was watery and halfhearted, but it felt real. “Yeah...yeah...”

"I don't have any younger relatives, but I know a younger android. Sweetest little thing ya just wanna hug her so tight till her head pops off.”

He nodded, the smile fading away into a twisted expression of pain. “I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.”

Sixty watched as he bowed his head, his hand raising to pinch his nose as he sobbed. Sixty knew what it was like, he did. Never did it come to wanting to take his life, but the helplessness and the feeling of not knowing what the next step was all too familiar.

He remembered being huddled in the corner of the living room feeling everything come down and crush him all at once. The hurt, the pain, the suffering, and the realization of what he was.

He remembered Hank's story, how he wanted to end it so many times. Without him...where the fuck would he be? He would still be such an asshole, ignorant, and unaware that life was such a bigger picture. He wouldn't be fucking _alive_. Connor wouldn’t be here, the androids would be still slaves.

Just one choice could send such a ripple through the pond of life.

It was a scary truth that Sixty learned at that moment.

The android moved before he could register what he was doing. He embraced the man. Tightly. Maybe he was out of line, and perhaps he should have asked for permission first, but the impulse couldn't be fought. He had weak self-control, after all.

For a moment, the man stopped sobbing and traded it for silent shock. He protested weakly, raising his hands to place against his sides to push him away, but it was contact he didn't know he needed. He went limp in the hold, accepting the genuine gesture. He was taller than him, and he had no qualms placing his head on his chest.

This would have been the proper moment to say "no homo," but smartly, he caught the impulse yet again. He cleared his throat again. “What’s your name, bud?” Sixty murmured softly.

“Dave.” He rasped into his t-shirt.

“Sixty. It's nice to meet you, Dave." He pulled away, yet kept his hands on his shoulder to steady him. To keep him grounded. He dipped his head down to look at the breaking man. "Honest."

A thought came to mind, and honestly, it was the first decent idea he had since meeting Dave. He looked behind himself and over to the bag that held Hank's noodles. “Want some dinner? You look hungry. It's Jane's Noodles, so nothing fancy, but yeah."

“You honestly don’t have to.”

“Nah, Hank’s fat enough. He will be thankful for your sacrifice.”

Taking the man by the arm as if afraid to lose track of him, as if he would disappear on him, he picked up the paper bag and opened it. The smell of shrimp and soy sauce smelled delicious, and apparently, the human agreed. His stomach growled loudly upon the scent, and he handed him the carton.

“Want to walk and talk?”

Dave agreed, nodding. "I don't live that far away."

“Sure, lead the way.” Though he had other plans.

He took the chopsticks, parted, and offered them to him. Dave took them in hand with a hesitant thanks. Then, they were well on their way, walking down the shadowy streets of Detroit.

Sixty stuck his fists into his pockets, mulling over where to start. He allowed some silence to come over them as he ate, letting the guy a moment of peace to simply enjoy his food. “Um, I may not know what it's like to want to end it all." He started out lamely. It was a start, and Dave didn't mind the silence being filled by his raspy genuine voice. "My dad wanted to. He well...it's weird to say that, but he really almost did. But my brother, Connor, you know, saved him, and I couldn't imagine a day without him. When I onlined again, everything I know is because of him."

Sixty shrugged, looking up to the night sky. He didn't know where he was going with his words, but it felt right, and so far, Dave hadn't run off. He simply kept eating the noodles humming every so often in vague acknowledgment. “And I guess just because your world is crashing down doesn't mean Brenna’s is. I bet she thinks the world of you. Despite Hank's weaknesses, I...I love him for him and all he's done for me. Being young and innocent you need someone to look up to."

The day he walked with him until the sun set as he spoke of his nightmares and memories was something he would forever be thankful for.

They turned another corner, and, so far, Dave hadn't noticed they weren't entirely heading in the direction of his home.

He looked back down from the sky to the human next to him, elbowing him gently in the side. He cringed away, but a tight smile curved at his lips. “She loves you for all her innocent and young reasons. Her princess mac and cheese. A roof over her head. Her school. Maybe just a bedtime story here and there."

“I'm not one to preach honestly. I...did- _do_ terrible things as well. I'm not good. But I try to be." Sixty rasped.

As he spoke, he was contacting a professional babysitter, an android he knew from a recent case via Nines. She could be trusted. He took the tab and then some. Sixty didn't earn much, but it felt good to help at least one soul in this fucked up world. Just like Hank had for him.

“It's okay to reach out, man, don't be afraid to do it. There’s people out there that are willing to help you."

His brothers. His father. His friends.

“Start with taking that first step. It’s scary, so _fucking_ scary, but that’s all it takes to make a choice. Taking a step to fall to your death or take a step to rise to a better self.”

He turned around the corner, and before them was a clinic. Dave looked to him in betrayal, and Sixty was expecting him to lash out in anger, but he didn't. He looked even more defeated and ashamed. He took the empty carton of noodles from his hands gently and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. "I know you're a good man. They will help you too."

“What….what about Brenna?” He barely rasped.

“I had a babysitter take care of your girl. Told her to make her princess mac’ and cheese.” Sixty assured.

“How do you know where I live? How do you-?”

Sixty's shoulders fell, and he smiled, though it was bittersweet. "I'm a cop. I wasn't totally honest with you. I, uh, not really a cop but enough to do some cop things?" He backtracked. "I have access to these kinds of things." He offered meekly.

There was a nurse by the door welcoming them. Sixty smiled at her and turned to Dave, who looked just as tired and defeated as before. He turned to the android, and this time he was the one to offer him the gripping hug. Sixty took it and embraced him for as long as he wanted and needed.

“You’ll be alright.” He assured. “I promise.”

 

Sixty closed the door behind himself and leaned against it in fatigue.

“Jesus kid, it’s midnight. Where the fuck have you been?”

He brushed back his unruly hair and looked up to the old man tiredly. Dave made him see him in such a different light. Something so painfully real and human.

Hank’s expression turned more concerned by the passing silent moment. “Sixty? Ya alright? What happened?”

“Um, so the noodles...” Sixty started out quietly, ticking his head in a bashful manner.

He walked forward carefully. He looked him over. “What happened then? Did you get mugged?”

A watery smile crossed his lips, and he shook his head. But it went away just as quickly, and he could have sworn his bottom lip wiggled. The impulse wasn't ignored. He suddenly wrapped his arms around the older human, hugging him tightly. He felt his arms raise up in shock.

His hands were planted on his back firmly. “Hey, hey, Sixty? What’s wrong? What hap-?”

“I love you, dad.” He rasped. “I want you to know that.”

He finally managed to peel the android off of him and looked him over again. "I love you too, kid. But...c'mon..." He held the android by his wrist and urged him to follow as he walked to the kitchen, flicking on the light. He released his hold and indicated for them to sit at the table.

Sixty stood looking down at the concerned human he didn't know he loved until now. Until the realization, he could have lost the one person in the world he respected so fucking much.

“I talked a guy down, um he was going to jump...and I gave him your dinner and..." He sighed, sitting heavily in the chair. "I took him to a clinic. Had an android look after his kid until he was better."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. The burn of tears came to his eyes. Sixty was so very in tune with his emotions. If he had a guess, it was the way he was built to be empathetic to an extreme or apathetic all the way to the other side of the spectrum. There was no such as a balanced in-between.

“Oh.” Hank blinked. The information settled in properly. “Son, that was really brave of you to do...” He offered.

“I didn't know what to do, but I knew I had to save him. He looked hungry."

“You did the right thing.” He gently murmured. Hank’s tired eyes looked into equally fatigued brown eyes.

“All I saw was you." And suddenly, Sixty is a little more grateful for all the little things he has in life. Sumo, a roof over his head, Hank and the precinct, his friends and his brothers, his shoes, and fuck, why not his bed?

“Jeez, Sixty." He reached out, gripping the back of his neck to pull him in for another tight embrace. "You did good." He repeated over and over again. Sixty kinda felt like Dave now. Wanting to hold onto another living being to his heart's desire was fulfilled.

He was glad Hank didn't have a problem with that either. Rough, chapped, lips were brought to his temple in a kiss, as the other hand cradled his head.

Sixty closed his eyes.

 

A few days after that night, Sixty was called back to the precinct. The sound of ringing phones, voices of dispatch alerting officers into the area of trouble, and alerts, the smell of coffee and worn-out fabric softer was a welcoming sensation of nostalgia. His desk remained as it was. He noticed a few notes here and there were posted on his terminal of greetings and crude doodles when he passed by. He smiled. It felt good to be missed.

Again, for the fourth time in his life, he stood before Captain Fowler. Alone and face to face.

Smartly, Sixty kept his hands in his pockets and his mouth shut. He bowed his head sheepishly as soon as the glass was made into a snowy sheen by a press of a button. Now they were truly alone. If that made him feel worse or relieved, he wasn't too sure. He ruffled his hair to at least calm the urge to fiddle with something.

“You’re suspended.”

Sixty creased his eyebrows together. “I-I am aware, yes?” He offered in confusion.

“What you did is inexcusable, but having you idle is not on my agenda. You're a great asset on my team, Sixty."

“Thank you, sir.”

A firm nod to show he acknowledged his thanks. “Hank has told me about your time off, and it's doing more harm than good.”

Of course, the old man would fight to get him back on the team. Sitting around doing nothing was doing more harm than good for him, and he was glad Hank caught on. Defending his own suspension would just piss off Fowler more.

“So." Fowler leaned forward, interlocking his fingers together in a steeple-like fashion. A glint in his eye told all. Sixty felt like he was going to be let in on the biggest secret, told a dark little truth, let in on an inside joke.

“A proposition has been made.”

Whatever plan the Captain had, he didn’t know, but that is why he was here after all, right?

Sixty ticked his head to the side, narrowed his eyes, a slow upturn coming to the corner of his lips. “I’m all ears, Captain.”

 

Sixty dropped the assault rifle in a lazy coy manner. He cracked his fingers, folding them outward with a tick of his head. A crack from his spinal unit made him sigh in satisfaction. He stared down at the human that, oh so charmingly, tried to crawl away from the imposing RK800. 

"Baby," he lolled his head towards him, placing a firm boot on his back. "I didn't know you knew I have a dom kink." The human below him barked out a cry of pain as he ground his heel into his spine. "You look so pretty like that."

Sharply, his hand shot out to grip him by his wrist, bending the arm backwards. A bark of pain sent a thrill down his spine.

“Sixty!” A voice to his side made him tick his head ever so slightly towards the voice, his eyes never looking away from his prey.

“Back off, we got it from here.”

The human whimpered in pain as he pulled his arm back ever so slightly. “Five more minutes.” He grounded.

“ _Sixty_...”

For a moment he held his arm back. When it seemed he wouldn’t do as he was told, Sixty forced himself to stand down. The android sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically as he tossed the limb aside.

“Fuckin a," He growled. He stepped back from the human, hands up in surrender. "I was just getting to the foreplay."

A man in SWAT gear with red hair cleared the visor of his helmet. His freckled face couldn’t be seen in the shadow of the alleyway. A smile formed on his lips upon the joke. “You know the drill.”

The android let his hands fall to his sides, eyeing the downed human that was at large. "The whole broken knees thing wasn't me, by the way, don't look at me like that. I'm being serious, bud." He pointed up to the fire escape hanging by a mere bolt.

The android predicted the outcome but how could he stop the guy from leaping from the third story? Yelling out stop to a man running from the law wouldn’t do jack shit.

“We got it.” The human offered with a nod.

Sixty stared at him for a moment longer before he let his hand fall limply. “Right. Whatever.” He waved off the group of SWAT coming his way. “Bag him up. Do what you gotta do.”

He walked off and away from the scene, leaned against the side of a building with his arms crossed, and watched as the area was secured. He scrunched his nose in displeasure as his targeted human was hefted upon useless feet. It was true, he looked so pretty beat to shit. Especially knowing what his list of crimes were. The murder and raping of his own fucking family, red ice dealings, armed robbery. The list went on and on.

Sixty was just glad the fucker was officially off the streets.

The proposition that the Captain offered him was catered to his form of stimulation, was causing him to grow bored very, very quickly. He was allowed to work on his own accord, but the leash around his neck was tight and digging into his chassis still. 

In so many terms, Sixty became DPD's personal bounty hunter. He was sent in as a last resort as well as when the shit hit the fan, or the stakes were too high for human standards and safety.

At the same time, Sixty didn’t mind the job, the new bit of purpose. He liked the chances, the fifty-fifty of something going wrong or right.

What he didn’t like was the leash. When he got his man or woman, held them under his thumb, pinned them to a wall, pressed their own knife to their neck oh so deliciously, the command to heel was given, and Sixty was to back off.

He didn’t have a weapon.

He didn’t have a fucking badge.

So.

SWAT or an officer made the arrest. Sometimes it was his brother or father if he was lucky enough to come across them.

Just once he would love to finish what he started, slap the cuffs around the wrists of a fuck that committed crimes that even Sixty wouldn’t find pleasure in. And  _ he _ was fucked up. Theses humans, though. They took the cake. 

“Have fun in the slammer, my guy," he sneered under his breath. "They'll have fun with you knowing what you did."

Sixty pushed himself off the wall uncrossing his arms raising his voice. "I'm done here, Timmy. See you back at the station, yeah?" He said as he walked by.

The said man turned to face him. “Sixty?”

The said android kept walking.

“You do good. Just know that.” He called after.

The android weighed his words out. They were genuine, but they were also apologetic. “Whatever.” He brushed off his words and made his way out of the alley.

Fowler was pleased with his numbers. He was pleased that every human he went after was found or caught in some way, shape, or form. They both were getting their rocks off, so the android didn't complain. Only a few escaped his clutches on chance, but the android never lost a trail.

He always found his target.

Slowly, he was cleaning up the streets of troubled Detroit one grubby human at a time. And it felt fucking great and all.

But.

Doing this sort of work wasn’t doing _good_. It was clean up. There was a difference.

Doing good was bringing justice to a woman that found out her husband was murdered. Getting a cat out of a tree for grandma. Helping a guy broke down on the interstate.

Talking a guy off the edge.

He missed working with Hank, with his brothers. They were the ones doing good. He missed seeing them. The only time he saw them was at home or if they were called to bag up his targets if it were an android. And those were far and in between.

He had no right to complain. Had no room to. He was back on the force, had a job and purpose. So why did he still feel used? Why did he still feel so out of place? His _intentions_ were good, kept his emotions and tendencies in check, funneled them into a good spar with Captain Allen or his brothers.

So, why did he still feel so out of place?

Sixty hissed in distaste, shoving his hands into his pockets and walked back to a borrowed patrol car.

He sat there, staring numbly out past the street before him and into a world of overthinking and complex web of emotions. Fingertips slowly wrapped around the steering wheel to anchor himself, but it did no good.

Lost to the world until another police siren rang close by jolted him back, he sat in the car for a long while deep in his thoughts and wandering doubts before he decided to drive back to the precinct.

 

Sixty stared holes into the back of Gavin’s head. The day was winding down, and the android continued to laze at his desk. He narrowed them as he rolled up another bit of paper and licked it across his tongue. Inconspicuously he looked around the precinct and shoved the spitball into the straw before promptly spitting it at the back of his chair.

A satisfied grin split his lips when it landed nearby the other ten he had shot. He was slowly making his way to his head.

“Sixty, sir?”

“ _Fuck_!” Sixty startled, spinning to face the meek and timid voice. His annoyed expression turned into surprise and then something coy upon the sweet little face he was greeted with.

“Gloria, how are you, my darling?" He cooed. He enjoyed the blush that came across her cheeks when she eyed him glaringly.

“Mail.” She placed the envelope on his desk. “It’s addressed to you.”

“Oh? Customer complaint? Fan mail? Another ransom?”

“Oh, please.” She waved him off and made her way back back to the front desks.

His desk chair creaked as he leaned back to watch her behind move in wondrous ways in that pencil skirt.

When she was out of sight, he leaned forward again and eyed the curious envelope on his desk.

Across the top was his name. Printed neatly with a few lines underneath it. It was written in determination and strength.

The pen drew harder and harder into the paper with each line. Curiously enough, it wasn't sent through the mail. It must had been just dropped off or slipped into their grasp by happenstance. But who would address him?

“One way to find out.” He murmured under his breath.

His eyebrows drew together in thought as he tore open the flap and slid out two pieces of folded paper. It was written on a yellow lined note pad paper and at last moment but with meaning.

He opened it, and upon the first few words did Sixty's creased eyebrows relax into something more gentler. He set his jaw firmly, drawing his fingers over his chin as he continued to read it.

It was a short letter. Not much was said but enough to get the point across. It was printed, not written in cursive. The handwriting was beautiful, written slowly, and precise. Thought was put into words. 

A smile flicked across Sixty’s expression when he finished reading the note. As he folded the paper, his sight went beyond what he saw and deep in thought as he processed the words.

Slowly he opened the other white paper and revealed a crayon drawing no doubt done by a little child. Atop a stone bridge, it depicted a knight on a horse saving a person with a crown atop his head from a mean looking creature that could only be guessed as a dragon. Comical ‘x’s were drawn for the creatures eyes as the knight held up a mighty sword.

Brown eyes flicked to his calk board upon the cubical wall. Slowly he turned towards it, considering it. It was filled with rather trivial things like Hank's desk, but directly in his line of sight, he pinned the note and drawing.

He liked it there.  Just as a reminder that he _ could _ do good. 

_ “ _ _ She loved the new story.” _

That he did good.


	5. REASON #5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so fun to write and even more interesting than I thought it would be. Upon some thought, I determined that dear Sixty is pansexual. I was initially going to have him straight as a ruler, but I figured with how much his mind has been scrambled up, he doesn't mind who he does. I assume, in the fic, at least, Connor is straight/maybe asexual, and Nines is bi but is in a relationship with Gavin. I hope my head cannons for this story aren’t that far fetched.
> 
> I want to warn some of you, There’s a part at the end where a man tries to force himself on Sixty it's not entirely explicit, but it is what it is. (I'll have a * to let you guys know when to skip the rest of the chapter.) Much love to you all, and enjoy and remember only read what you can handle. Take care of yourselves. 
> 
> If you guys are interested, I have a playlist based on my take on Sixty’s personalty on Spotify. I also use this playlist to write many of the scenes in the fic as a moodsetter. Give it a listen!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2y8jSNNgwg3Ju9qQnkPS2X?si=RX6lhdc1RrGvIxMC-iPsOw  
> Find me on tumblr and drop a line! @technohumanlation

* * *

The sex. 

* * *

 

 

"Are you packing?" The human had ticked her head to the side, flicking her eyes down below. She shifted on her heels, taking a charming little sip of her drink, courtesy of the android before her.

Well. Sixty didn't carry a gun. His brothers did, but not him, yet...or a while for that matter.

Probably because he drew Gavin's own firearm on himself a few days ago. The dick had it coming. Nines needed to keep his twink-wait.

She was asking about-

Sixty smirked, covering up the too-long pause between question and answer. He had to stay smooth. "Shit,” he ticked his head. “Of course, baby.”

“I have to ask. I hear not all androids have the Eden Club attachments.”

He was oddly created with the anatomy of a male. He didn't want to think about why he was at the moment. Tonight was his own sort of experiment.

The thought of human sexuality and experiencing it for himself was tempting to experience for himself. He was interested in the one-night stands, the no strings attached package deal, and the game one played to get the one in your pants.

So far, it seemed all too easy. He bought a woman a drink. Smirked at her from across the bar, and here she was flirting with him, curling her hair around her finger, biting her lip, and flashing sultry eyes to him.

It couldn’t be this easy.

Was it?

“What about you, baby? What you got going on tonight?" He fully turned to her, one arm resting on the bar, the other brushing across his jaw in a thinking manner.

“Out with the girls. Still got the card, but I'm looking to toss it out the window tonight."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She was a virgin. He paused for a moment, and she noticed. It didn't stop him from reviewing his morals. Did she really want to toss her card out just like that? She seemed so good at this whole ritual already. Was she lying? Was she truthful? No, he couldn't do this. He wasn't looking for something this deep. _Shit._

He was about to abort the mission when she released a breathy laugh, looking down bashfully. She looked back up, licking her lips. "Don't tell me you're a gentleman now just because I want to lose my virgin mind? I'm not on the forth drink for nothing."

“I..." And just like that, he was losing his smooth demeanor.

“Look, babe, you’re...” He puffed out his cheeks. “ _Smashing_ , but I...”

Recently, _he_ was the fucking virgin. He wanted to toss his card out the metaphorical window too. A lucky guy at a routine interrogation with the old man had him with a number to call. Wham bam fantastic blow job in the van.

“What’s your name?” She asked suddenly.

“Sixty.”

“Donna. Feel better?”

“No?” He looked away with just his eyes in a doubtful manner.

“Buy me another drink, and I'll get you some thirium. Talk to me for a little bit, and let's see where it goes. Deal?"

Sixty could manage with such a request. “Sure, deal.”

 

It landed him between her legs.

Sixty raised them to either side of his body, slamming her back into the nearest wall, digging his crotch into her pelvis with a feral growl. She yelled out, hair becoming frazzled as her head bowed forward from the force of the blow.

“You're such a bad boy, aren't you?"

“You have no fucking idea, baby." He captured her lips with his own sucking on her tongue with a newfound hunger he had never felt before. Killing was one thrill. Pouring some salt into Gavin's coffee was cute. But rA9 be blessed this was the best drug he had ever experienced. And it was just the start.

He was glad he gave in to his curiosity.

Desperately was the little human clawing his shirt open. Donna decided against undoing the buttons and tore it open. Oh, he loved it.

He pulled away from her lips, tongue dancing across her jaw and then to her neck where her fingers clawed at his scalp, dragging down his neck and shoulders towards his chest. Her nails left behind white lines, not just from the force but his nerves firing off to reveal plastimetal beneath.

In response, Sixty growled biting down on her neck, suckling on her skin that tasted of cigarettes and perfume.

She was so intoxicating. What would she taste like? What would she feel like when he truly ravaged her? What would this turn into?

Her gasps had his thirium pump racing, her keens, the way her hips dug against his hardening cock made everything go too fast and so slow at the same time. His senses were heightened, he could feel her heat, her quickening pants against this chest. He could taste her want.

“Then fucking show me. Quit playing games." Donna gritted, pulling fistfuls of dusty blonde hair to take another bite of his bottom lip.

Sixty loved this little human. He took her away from the wall only to turn her around and press her front side into it. One arm loop around her chest to bring a finger to her mouth, the other found her heat all too quickly. She wore nothing underneath her dress.  
Fucking a...

He delved his fingers into her dripping heat, flicking against the nub that begged to be touched. “Who says I’m playing games?” He rumbled into her ear as she squirmed in his hold. His cock ached in his pants, twitching upon the sounds she made, the way she rubbed her ass against his crotch. This wasn’t her first rodeo.

Donna was no virgin. Her voice was too practiced, her moans too needy.

Fuck, he didn’t care.

She bit down on his fingers, sucking them when he circled her clit just right. He smirked in victory, trailing his nose along her neck taking whatever tastes he wanted of her, biting her skin, sinking his teeth into soft living flesh.

If she were an android, all he would get was a chipped tooth and a soft cock.

“Right there, faster...wha-?" The little keen of want and desperation tumbled from her lips as she trailed the fingers that left her.

“This is only the start. I can't have you too excited now." He smirked into her skin, voice hungry, and shaking.

He placed his fingers into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself. Gladly, Donna suckled on them, moaning like a fucking slut. Jesus, she was perfect already.

He was quick to shuffle his pants down and pull her dress up. She was already bending over, spreading her legs to take him. "Come on, come on, fuck me already, fuck me so _fucking_ good.”

Sixty shoved himself into her with one motion, her slick dripping. She yelled out, pleasure twisting into pain. That was it was all about. Pain with pleasure.

“Can you take me, sugar?" He pulled out and shoved himself into her, slapping his hips against her ass, forcing her into the wall.

“God, you’re so fucking big.”

“Damn right," Sixty smirked, taking hold of her hip and raising her one leg. He pressed her into the wall harder, taking himself out slowly before shoving into her in harsh punishment.

Her hands were planted in front of the wall, her fingers digging into the already chipping paint. “Good girl.”

The android slid out and then back in, making his pace faster with each motion. Eventually, he had worked into a fast and vicious speed lifting her one leg a different to angle his cock just right.

Donna had reached behind herself to grip his tie and hold on for dear fucking life as he pounded into her.

Her slick ran down the sides of her thighs. She smelled intoxicating. It drove the android mad.

Sixty dropped her leg, fully sheathing himself into her forcing her into the wall entirely. He ground up and into her with growled grunts.

He took a fist full of her hair and pulled, hard. She yelled out with a surprised gasp, her grip tightening around his tie.

“Come on, you fucking slut, cum for me. Cum on my cock." Sixty growled.

“Right there, babe. Fuck!" A yell came from her as her heat became tighter around his cock. Eventually, it quivered and clutched him tightly when she came with a suppressed sound from her throat, legs trembling.

“Oh god... _oh god_...” Donna pressed her cheek into the wall gasping for air.

Sixty was patient, releasing her hair as he allowed the human to swim in her bliss. He smirked in victory. He made her beat the average time to orgasm.

“Oh god, you’re still hard...” She reached between her legs stroking was little of his cock that wasn’t delved into her.

“Do you want more?” A finger lovingly trailed her hair over one shoulder. “I can last as long as you need me. Well, as long as we want. I want. Whatever.” He tripped over his words.

She tapped the side of his hip and nodded breathlessly. A signal to pull out of her. He did as he was told, watching Donna stand there for a moment, a hand between her legs just to fucking recover.

And for a moment. Just a moment, he was worried he had actually harmed her. The desire to ravage her again was still running through his lines, but he was no dickhole. He was a gentleman. He took her by the hand and spun her around, so her back was against the wall.

Slowly he sank to his knees with his cock in one hand. She smiled, looking down at him. With the spirit of a man on a mission, he delved his mouth into her heat, nose rubbing her clit as he sucked and gently lapped at her folds. His eyes remained trained, looking up to her.

“Jesus, you're fucking amazing, heaven-sent. What the fuck..." Donna licked her lips, pressing them into a firm line. She tilted her head back, opening her mouth as puffed breaths left her.

“I love how women can last forever." He rumbled into her heat. "Human men can't keep up."

She smirked, giggling a bit at that. He loved it. "And androids are so much better?"

He flicked his tongue over her nub playfully, fingers replacing his mouth. He ticked his head. It was true. He could be as hard as he wanted, last however long within reason. "Yes, we are." He flashed her a cheeky smile as she looked down at him with hazy eyes.

“Get up. I want to ride you." She pulled him up by his tie, and he obeyed. The thought of not being in control this time piqued his curiosity successfully.

“The bed. I want to show you something.”

“I think you have shown me everything you-”

“What are you? A virgin?”

“Says the one who said she was.”

Donna placed a finger over her lips. “I said a virgin mind, not body, baby.”

Sixty sat on the edge of the bed, looking up to the woman with a newfound interest as she climbed his lap. "Lay back on the bed. All the way to the headboard."

She stayed upon his lap as he did as he was told. When he was just at the headboard, she smirked. "Arms up."

He narrowed his eyes. He did as he was told.

And then she was undoing his tie. He raised an eyebrow watching her carefully. “Careful with that, that was an employee of the month present.” The android joked.

“Cute.” She huffed, eyes sparkling.

She pulled the tie from around his neck and leaned forward, purposely pushing her breasts into his face. He chuckled, lapping at one of her nipples.

And then the realization struck him as the silk was tied around his wrists and pushed against the metal of the bed.

He didn't know how he would like being tied up like this. He had just met her after all, and the thought of being in danger crossed his mind. Oddly enough, his cock twitched at the thought.

“This is fun. You think this is fun?” Donna tightened the tie around his wrists, and he blinked. "Kinky. I like kinky.” From the nearby table, she shoved a handkerchief into his mouth.

“You talk too much.” She drawled.

A chuckle left his throat. Tied and gagged. He liked it. Oh, he liked her. He had a full show of how she slowly lowered herself on his cock. This time she was in control, and all he could do was take it. The human made it a show of taking her dress off. He creased his eyebrow together and moaned at the display.

And rA9 she wasn't wearing a bra either. He bit his lower lip ticking his head to the side. If he were free, he would be biting his knuckles instead at the sight of her.

She rose onto her knees, her heat taking his cock with her. Sixty watched as she clutched him as she rolled her hips, rocked them side to side. He wished he was able to speak. He wished he was able to talk, but the wad of cloth in his mouth had him already drooling and clenching down on it. His hands curled into fists as he pulled against his bindings.

As an android, he was strong, but whatever knot she had tied around his wrists were efficient and cutting into him.

“Behave, Sixty." She purred. The woman leaned forward, placing her mouth around one of his nipples suckling as she rode him slowly. He jolted upon the sensation before a low groan left him. This was new. This was something he forgot women could do back. And fuck did it feel magical.

Something in his lower stomach was coiling tighter, and it had him making needy sounds. Growling against the cloth. His hips moved against his will, meeting her halfway, thighs slapping against his legs. It was becoming hot. Too hot. His skin felt like it was on fire. No matter how much air he pulled into his body, the heat was never tamed.

“Be a good boy now." Donna backed away, pressing her hands into his chest as her pace became faster. He tilted his head back, eyebrows creasing together as the heat below built up faster. A force he wanted to release. "Cum for me? Oh, pretty please?"

He closed his eyes a low groan, leaving him as his chest rose and fell to suck in desperate breathes to cool his overheating body. It felt good to surrender control. It felt good to be taken over and tortured like this. His cock was so hard...rA9 when would he be able to have relief? The answer would come soon enough as his body betrayed him once again.

“Cum in me, baby. I want your cum so badly." Her dirty talk was so gentle and flowery. Needy and sultry. He didn't care how practiced it sounded, but damn did it work. With a grunt, his hips locked upward into her as he came into the woman above her. She opened her mouth, a low keen leaving her as she locked herself around him. His head spun as she continued to ride him even after his finish was completed. It was beautiful torture.

Embarrassingly enough, his frame had overheated. A click of a fan suddenly stopping and the world going dark was the last of dear Donna.

 

She was gone the next morning, and Sixty was saddened by this. He rather liked her. Not even a number. At least the cloth was out of his mouth.

Society was right. A soulless fuck did feel rather dirty, didn't it? But nothing felt dirtier than waking up from an overload, still tied to the bed, wallet empty and cock still out. He tilted his head back, contacted the first person he could think of, and blew his bangs up in a frustrated sigh.

“Hey Connor, gotta ask a favor of ya. I’m kinda tied up at the moment.”

 

“I told you to close your eyes when you came in.” Sixty insisted as they walked through the glass gates into the bullpen.

Connor shook his head. “Brother, how on earth did you even get into that situation?" He looked at him from the side and shivered. "Rhetorical question.” He reminded bitterly.

Sixty couldn't explain it enough. No doubt Connor's loose lips were already telling daddy about his run-in. “I told you I had a one night stand. I wanted to figure out what sex was like.”

“But...but _that_? With a stranger? If anything, she could have killed you!"

They made it to his desk Connor sitting heavily in the chair, spinning to face the terminal. “A hump and dump, a cum and go, a mount-n’-dew, yes.”

“Sixty, when you said you pleasured yourself, I thought you were serious." He said as if it should have been enough.

“I was. I am.” He blankly said. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t get curious about the real thing. I can only watch Candi Pussa for so much before-.”

Connor looked at him in disgust. "Okay, alright." He cut him off, placing a hand up.

The youngest clamped his mouth shut.

“You need to be careful. It’s alright to explore whatever, just...know what you are doing. It’s still dangerous out there for our kind.”

Sixty frowned.

“Who knows what kind of things they could do to us.”

 

Sixty was breathless as he laid on the bed. His ankles and wrists were locked in spreader bars. His mind swam in the danger of it all, choking as the cock in his mouth went throat deep. He sucked and curled his tongue around the fat thing. He sucked harshly, oral fluid dripping from the sides of his mouth. Only a few more moments, and that was it. Heat rushed down his throat, and he sucked greedily upon it. He gasped for air as it was taken out. A string of cum was wet upon his chin. He chuckled, lapping at it eagerly. He raised his head to give a glace down towards the end of the bed. A rather lovely mistress was locking his cock into a cage.

It was a rather lovely mess. It was the traditional visit to the bar, and it was them that came up to him and offered the devils threesome.

Who was he to resist such an interesting proposal?

“Good boy." Jerold was his name. A middle-aged man that still had the stamina and the mind of a horny college student with three essays due and a hard cock to take care of. He trailed his fingers through his hair and Sixty smirked, practically purring upon the praise.

Jerold was happily married to Mary, sweet, sweet Mary was pleasuring herself upon the sight and was so very close. His cock twitched upon her moans, aching in the cage they had put around it. The key was dangling around her neck. Her breathing was hard and loud, the moans becoming louder as she circled the vibrating wand around her pussy faster and faster.

“P-pet him.”

“Of course.” Her husband obeyed.

Jerold placed his hands on his chest, rubbing him down heavily. His fingers circled around his nipples, pinching them, falling towards his abdomen and his inner hips. Sixty moaned, jerking his hips upward, his cock weeping with precum. The pressure in his lower belly was building and building within.

“So excited...” She keened.

Jerold took his cock in hand, the padlock jingling against the metal. Sixty’s hands clenched into fists. It was sweet torture. The most intoxicating kind ever. He could play at the game as well. Quick research had him loving the way this sort of sex had a thrill going up his spine.

“Please...please.” He begged in such a sweet voice. “Suck me, babe. I want to cum.”

Jerold smirked and placed himself between his legs. He cautiously lapped at his cock, suckling the tip ever so barely. Sixty gasped, head going back as he craved more. Mary moved closer towards them, the wand never moving from her dripping sex.

Jerold bowed his head, taking the metal and cock all in mouth as his hands traveled up his inner thighs and hips.

And with that, she came, her body locking up as a meek sound was ripped from her throat. Jerold released Sixty and looked behind him to witness his wife's release.

She smiled lovingly to him and seductively bit her lip. She smelled so tantalizing. It hung so heavy in the air. He wondered if she tasted just as sweet as Jerold. She turned off the vibrator, moving toward him.

His heart raced, seeing her suddenly take a predatory expression on her face.

Humans were something so wonderful. Just the mention of sex, the sensation of the greedy want came to mind, they turned so animistic. Predatory, everything else going out the window when the basic programming of reproduction that was hardwired into their brains came alive.

Before he could say or do anything, she straddled his chest, teasing her pussy along his skin. A chuckle left his throat, watching her move closer to his mouth.

“Yeah, babe, let me taste you. I'll take care of you." He opened his mouth, welcoming her heat into his mouth.

Jerold was to his cock again, fondling the cage. He moaned, jerking his hips upwards. He moved his arms to take her by the hips or touch something, anything, but the spreader didn't allow him to. He groaned in sweet, sweet torture as her pussy was forced down around his mouth and chin further. And by rA9, she did taste so sweet.

“Good boy, eat up. You have such a good appetite.”

Damn right, he did. He sucked at her lips and clit taking in every hot drip of her pussy. She moved her hands down, taking messy blonde fistfuls of his hair. He knew he hit the right spot when her hips began to shiver. Mary's clit was so swollen. So big and perky. It was better than Donna's pussy. She tasted better too. rA9, this was heavy. He closed his eyes, humming in pleasure as she rode his mouth desperately.

“The key, Mary.” He heard Jerold’s voice among the blur that was the moment. She tore off the key from around her neck and handed it shakily to her husband.

The next moment was bliss. He tilted his head back to hiss in relief as his cock was released from the cage. A warm, lube filled hand was wrapped around his length. "Jesus Christ, you're huge." Jerold praised in awe.

His eyes sharpened, making sultry eye contact with the man below. “Damn right, sugar. It’s all yours.”

Mary growled. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

He chuckled when his mouth was forced into her dripping sex. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted. “Suck me harder.”

He did as he was told though the way Jerold's hand worked him harder made him see stars. He was already denied his release for so long, and even now, he couldn't completely focus on her pleasure. He tilted his head back, his hips moving into Jarold's warm grip.

“rA9...Jesus Christ..." He murmured, looking up to Mary with blurry vision as the sweet release was already being milked from his cock. Sixty's mouth remained hung open, his eyebrows pinching in strain as he chased after the hot fire building up from his back to his cock. He was left helpless as he stared up at Mary.

She was smiling, not at all upset. “I like that face on you. You’re so pretty.” Her hand trailed the side of his face lovingly.

Sixty moaned upon her praises. Jerold was working his entire length, moving his firm slick fist along his shaft. "C'mon, big guy." He murmured. "Cum a good load for me."

His hips shivered in desperation, and his legs struggled against the bars. His arms were raised as if to grip anything to hold on for dear life as his finish crashed over him with a repressed growl from his throat. The android panted as hot wet strips of cum landed on Jarold's fist and his stomach.

Sixty closed his eyes, his body pressing into the bed heavily. His mind scrambling to keep up with the overstimulation that followed afterward. Shit, this was how he passed out the last time.

“St-stop. Red. _Red._ Holy _shit_." He murmured the safe-word, and all sensations stopped. He panted for another moment, collecting himself. The static in his vision slowly ebbed away. "S-Sorry..." He raised his hand in a placating manner, the bar clinking with the gesture.

Jerold was by his side immediately. "You good, Sixty?" His expression was genuine, but boy Sixty did not miss the way his cock was hard again.

Mary's hand was trailing through his hair, and he nodded breathlessly. "I glitch out when I'm overstimulated. I love it, but I want to, you know, _continue_.”

“No problem." He smiled. "Honestly, this is the most fun we've had in a while." He looked to his wife, who mirrored the curve of lips, agreeing with a nod.

“You’re a natural.” She praised.

Sixty nodded, a dopey sort of smile coming to his face. “Then, shall we continue?”

Jerold moved to his cock once again, more gentle than the last time as it was worked to a hardened state. "Fine by us."

Sixty saw stars for the second time as he rode his dick, and Mary was sucked dry.

 

It was interesting. Once all was said and done. After they had brought out the whips, the masks, the silk eye covers, the lovely perfumes. Turns had been taken. In no way was Sixty to harm his human partners. He skipped out on his turn, gladly. He would rather receive than give.

It was no surprise when explained in the lovely afterglow and aftercare that BDSM was so perfect for him. A thrill of being in danger with a reward at the end of it all made him climb to higher places.

 _After_ the aftercare and the offered pouch of thirium, he was kicked out so politely and had to walk on home. Even if Sixty was covered in whatever sexual messes and had been fucked out to higher places. Even if he felt like his body was blissed, and the humans were more than kind.

He still felt empty and so very...wrong.

He was staring off into space again.

The pen on his nose was still and perfectly balanced. He was leaned back in his desk chair, eyes searching the ceiling of the precinct as he mulled over the recent happenings. Even compared to Donna or his first time with the guy in his car the other night, this time was different.

He felt used, more so, kinda like a cum rag.

“Now if I knew any better,” Tina Chen. "that look means somebody is second-guessing.” She hugged the files in her arms tighter to her chest. “That and the way you came in with a lovely limp has me thinking regret.”

Fuck, so someone did notice his fucked up walk. Of course, it would be Tina. So, he was a little sore from last night's happenings. So what. People needed to mind their own business. People did when Nines gave his human a proper fuck down, so why couldn't they leave _him_ alone?

Sixty ticked his head towards her, resulting in his pen falling from his nose.

He asked, shaking his head. “Did not. Am not. _Shove it._ ” He listed off with a bite. He looked back up to balance the pen on his nose once more. He thought the confrontation was over, but it wasn't. He looked up to her with a pout.

“I heard about the other night from Connor.”

“What the fuck?!” He leaned back in betrayal. Anger boiled through him. “Can’t he keep his mouth-?”

“I asked, okay? Don't get mad at him. I was curious and worried." She added.

He rolled his eyes. “Just because I got fucked over, hah pun intended, everyone gets their tits in a twist. I’m fine. Isn’t this what some people call a sexual awakening?”

She smiled, though it was bittersweet. "Look, Sixty, we've all been there. If you need a good time, I know a friend who's looking for a guy to treat her right. Because you _are_ a good guy.”

“What? Like a good fuck?” He purposely ignored the compliment.

“No, Sixty. God, is that what you’ve been doing? Just...fucking? Sixty have you considered dating too?”

“Dating?”

“Yes, like going out with someone to dinner, a drink, the park, a hike, coffee? A _conversation_.”

"Since when were you, my therapist?" His words were seething, but his gaze grew distant as her words settled in his mind. “Wait. I...forgot about that.”

“God, you’re a dumbass.” She hissed. "Just be careful." She patted his arm in a good-natured way and smiled. He looked down to where she had touched him with creased eyebrows. He shook his head again and leaned toward her. “Uh, yeah! Suck a clit, Tina!”

A middle finger was aimed over her shoulder.

 

Later that day, Sixty noted the way Gavin’s hand rested more than a full twenty seconds on Nines’ hand. Sixty made a curious expression when Gavin turned it over to hold it. All without breaking away from the serious conversation they were having or the computer screen.

"Of course, detective, I'll have them to you by noon."

“Better, plastic. Fowler’s up my ass.”

“And it would seem that is not all that is up your ass….” Sixty mumbles, watching as the detective placed a quick peck on his brother’s hand. Gavin simply swaggered away, brushing a thumb across his nose, oh, so casually.

Creasing his eyebrows together in confusion with his mouth open in a curious ‘o’ shape, Sixty rolled himself over to Nines desk.

“Hey.”

The middle brother looked up and over to him. Friendliness morphed into defensiveness right before his eyes, “Hey…?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Sixty did so as well. “So...”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, nothing just, uh…” He paused for dramatic effect purposely. “Did you fuck Gavin first, or did you date him?"

The reaction from his brother was priceless. The usually stoic android balked tripping over his words. “Sixty! This is highly inappropriate.”

Sixty didn’t see why. “Not really. I’m asking a serious question. I’m trying to figure out something.”

Exasperated, Nine's shoulders fell, noting his composure was slipping. He reassessed his stance, squared his shoulders and demeanor, holding onto what little strands of professionalism he had left. “My romantic personal life is not meant to be used for your self-discovery. I know what you have been up to and know I disapprove.”

“Thanks, dad, cock tastes good too, brother. See, we have something in common."

Nines rolled his eyes, giving him a dark glare.

“Oh, come on, just tell me if you choked on his balls first or not.”

Nines turned around with fury in his expression but caught himself. Sixty, all the while, grinned madly. His brother looked around the bullpen to see if any prying eyes were wandering before he set him with a firm gaze. “Sixty, whatever you are doing with your newfound sexual awakening is your business and not mine. No. We _didn’t_...” He looked away from him to the computer screen, indicating the conversation was over.

Sixty laughed. He was lying. His disco ball turned red whenever he did. So cute.

He remained, a grin splitting his face as he watched his brother flick his eyes to him and the screen. Sixty curled his lower lip into his mouth, biting it down to hold back the glee.

Nines gave in with a defeated sigh and rolled his eyes. He spun in his chair to face his youngest brother. “It was...after a close call. I almost...and things were emotional, Gavin confessed and-” He closed his eyes knowing he would regret was he was about to say. Sixty leaned forward. “The men’s bathroom in-”

Sixty slapped his hand down on his desk, stood up, and pointed at him. "In the middle stall, you fucking slut! Knew it!"

Glares were cast over to him, and Nines hissed in betrayal. "Sit. Down!" He bit caustically.

“Fine, fine, fine...but the bathroom stall was your first time! Dude, that's so dirty! I didn't think you had it in you!"

Nines shook his head. “I said too much already. rA9 Sixty, you’re my brother. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you about this sort of thing.” He groaned.

“No, no, see you proved my point! See? Sex without strings is okay! Tina was all, "you need to meet someone. Get to know them you're a lonely cock" blah blah blah."

“Gavin and I are in a relationship, Sixty.” He grounded out. “ _Committed_.”

Sixty’s laugh winded down to but a chuckle. His smile went away.

Nines' anger dwindled away as well. He was an observant mother fucker, and he could see through him. He looked at him in worry. He hated it. "They never called you back." It was a statement. A truth. A bullet to the metaphorical feels.

He nodded.

“Left before you woke up?”

Another nod.

“Kicked you out.”

Sixty came back to life, indignation written on his face. “I get it, okay!"

Nines sagged his shoulders. “My thoughts, Sixty? I believe some humans have a one night stand to fill in a void for only a little bit. Or that is simply what they do to fulfill their needs. But what I think you’re looking for is something a bit more...fulfilling. More satisfying. Long term.”

Sixty looked up to his brother.

Nines took this time to continue. "It's acceptable to look for another. A partner. It's not a weakness." He bit his lip. "Gavin and I started ours in a heated moment. A whim. We both did not know it would turn out the way it did. It worked, we got lucky. It happens like that, but it's alright to look for something other than sex. It can be more. Gavin and I would do anything for each other, and I suppose we are still working out some differences. It's about growing. Progress." A smile that seemed so genuine crossed his lips. "Gavin is a good man."

Sixty reset his jaw and looked upon him with genuine pride. As he spoke about the detective, his LED had swam from a yellow to a calm and collected blue. He was glad his brother was so happy with his partner. But. His heart ached. He hated the sensation. In a way, he was glad he got rid of his LED. People seemed to know what he thought all the time by just wearing his heart on his sleeve. It would have been worse with the disco ball.

Sixty looked away abruptly, clasping his brother on his shoulder. "Right. Right...um good talk, Nines." He cleared his throat and began to slide back to his desk. "Thanks." But he didn't like those touchy feels. Nor the way his brother left his worried gaze on him.

He looked at his terminal numbly. Hank's sudden laugh cut through his hearing, instantly, making him flick his eyes over to the man. He was clutching Connor's neck, tossing him away in a jovial manner. The android retorted with something, but that's not what his eyes focused on.

Instead, his eyes remained on the way the light had caught a gold band around his left hand.

 

Frustrations built in a way that Sixty only knew how to release in one of two ways. It was through a sudden burst of aggression or recently discovered, through sex. The android below him moaned as he bit down on her neck, clutching a fistful of hair to yank her head back. Again, his teeth dug into her breaking artificial skin to reveal shining white chassis and bleeding thirium.

The gasp of pain that left her had him reeling. She was delicious, and drawing such sounds from her had his cock hardened in record time. Her nails dug into his bare back, leaving behind blue lines that displayed her desperate quick climb.

He was rough.

And so was she.

Taking whatever she wanted from his body as well. Thirium dribbled down his chest and neck, where she had claimed him in return.

Her gentle coos and encouragements had him pounding into her with abandon. Sixty was strong, but as an android, he was stronger. Below, she was gripping his shoulders for dear life as her pained cries filled the hotel room.

Her finish came and went, but Sixty didn't make mind of it. He flung her over onto her front, forcing her face into the bed, gripping her wrists at the small of her back. Forcefully he fucked her raw. The pounding he delivered made the whole damn bed shake.

This type of thrill. This type of sex was a new animal. A shroud had fallen over his vision leaving nothing but instinct behind. To take what was his, to give in to the thrill of that danger of breaking the being below him. At one point, Sixty could have possibly seen thirium trail down her thighs, but he didn't care, and she didn't beg for him to stop.

He couldn’t stop even if he forced himself to. He felt too far gone into emotions he had felt only recently. To display them through such physical contact had him addicted to the high. Both their bodies and sheets were covered in their fluids. Their blood. She was a pretty little thing, and when he would be done with her, she would look perfect.

She never told him to stop, and he fucking loved it.

There was a moment where she shifted, and instantly had he moved. His other hand found her throat choking her with a grip that had artificial skin breaking and glitching out upon his knuckles and neck. She gasped out his name, begged for more, harder, to draw them closer to their violent finish. He could have sworn something buckled under his power, but he didn't care. His fist closed in tighter around her neck, his other pulled her wrists to force her to bend backward at a painful angle. Her choked cry mixed with a feral growl deep from his throat. Sixty shoved himself into her one last time and came with shivering legs and panted hot breath.

Below, the android he still did not know the name of cried out, her heat clutching him deliciously.

He pumped himself into her weakly a few final times, fluids dripping from her sex as the silence came over them in a thick blanket. He could hear her strained meek sounds of a raw voice muffled by the sheets forced about her. Could hear her body strain to keep upright.

It wasn’t good.

He pulled out of her, clarity whiplashing him into action. He removed his hands from her wrists and neck, the way her arms and head fell limply made his metaphorical stomach churn.

“I-” He started out, his voice dry and nervous. Instead of pain, or distress, the android below him was smiling, drooling upon the bed as she chuckled. She dropped her legs that were still raised and still quivered in the aftershock. Thirium staining the white sheets.

“I’ve never ever had someone do that to me before.”

Her sultry words didn’t raise that thrill. Make his appetite grow once more. It made him feel sick.

“It’s kinda hot.” She purred.

Sixty numbly shook his head, raising his hands to look down to them. He looked at their bitten, scratched, torn bodies in muddled horror.

“No...you don’t understand I could have-”

The android below him rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, sat up from the bed, cleaning herself off with the sheets. He watched with growing uncertainty that morphed into realization as she slipped back into her dress.

“You did good, shut it.” She collected her things, shuffled in her purse, and tossed money on the bed. “Thanks for a good time.”

Sixty watched as she left the room, feeling like the lowest he has ever been, disgusted in his own skin, ashamed and defiled.

The scalding heat of a shower nor leaving the money right where it had landed did any good to erase such sensations.

 

Sixty found himself sitting in the break room doing paperwork, tapping his pen every so often. An empty thirium packet was bounced between his lips. He was looking down at the datapad, but the words weren't settling in. His mind was elsewhere once again.

After last night the android felt the dirtiest he had been in a long time. A long shower couldn’t wash the lasting marks on his artificial skin. The cuts and bite marks still littered his chest and neck, hidden with a jacket zipped all the way up.

After last night, sex didn't sound so enticing. At least until he knew what he wanted. Someone walked into the break room, and Sixty shifted, clearing his throat as if nothing was wrong. Everything was fine. A pang of panic went through him as they came over. He knew from the smell of faded aftershave who it was. Hank sat on the table, next to his work, crossing his arms.

Sixty didn’t look up. Ashamed. “This sucks.” He offered to break the silence.

Hank shrugs his shoulders. "You're trying to find out what you like, kid. It’s no big deal.” His sentence was left in a way that had him knowing there was more. A hand was placed out, and Sixty didn't stop him. He pulled back the jacket that was zipped all the way up to his chin. The cuts along his neck were revealed. "Until it is, son."

His voice was not judging nor harsh. It wasn’t concerned but neutral. “Got scared?”

Sixty nodded numbly before he finally looked up to his father. "I'm sorry." For once, the shame he felt couldn't be pushed aside for a dirty joke or a harsh quip.

The man sighed, standing up from sitting on the table. He was glad he sat across from him and not over him. It felt like he was on trial when people did that to him. He was getting tired of it.

“As long as you’re safe.” He assured.

Sixty flicked a half-smile to him. The money was left on the bed, dirty and disgusting. Even though he left it behind, he couldn't help but feel like he took it with him.

“How did you meet Barb?” Brown tired, eyes flicked up to the man before he could say anything more.

The question made him eerily quiet, and he could see the way his jaw clenched he wasn't expecting to hear that name. Just as he was about to tell him to forget it, never mind, Hank spoke. “Barbara?” He murmurs. "How did you come across that?" He was curious, gray-blue eyes sparkling in query as he ticked his head to the side.

“Connor poked around my shit. Wanted to know more about you." A half-lie.

“Fair, I guess," Hank grumbled. "Rather, you asked than snoop around."

Sixty raised his eyebrows, blowing out a breath, his cheeks puffing out. "Well, gee now, you know how I felt."

Hank shot him a look that was enough to tell him to shut up. Sixty was smart to obey.

He settled into the chair as comfortably as he could, scratching his nose as he tried to find the proper words. “Well,” He tilted his hand away from his nose as he decided upon what he was to say. “Got shot one night on patrol. She was a nurse in the ICU, and I could never forget a pretty face like hers. Heaven sent angel to bring me back to earth." A fond smile came to his lips. It suited him. Sixty liked the way his brother and his father looked when they spoke about their loves. It made something in Sixty’s heart clench yet soar.

Hank became softer, his gaze more distant upon fond memories.

“I almost wanted to get shot again just so I could see her, I swear. But uh, she...she was the one that swung by here.” The smile grew. “She wanted to make a report of a stolen heart.”

Sixty couldn't dare to interrupt the story, but he found his mouth moving before he could stop himself. “Stop. That’s so gross.” He scrunched his nose in mock disgust.

“Honest to god. I’m not lying, kid!” He chuckled. "She walked right up to my desk and made it all out to be a heart was stolen from the hospital, and I was sitting there, a deer in the headlights still trying to get over the fact she was sitting there across from me. Like I was going to catch on, it was a cheesy pick-up line."

The android rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, after that, we went out for coffee on one of her lunches, a bar, her place, mine, and the rest is history. Two years later, we got married, and one more we had Cole.”

Sixty lowered his eyes, his head following after. The moment of silence afterward had Hank shuffling for words.

“Sometimes what we are looking for doesn’t come when we are looking for it. It just happens whether we want to or not.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. A sad smile took over his expression.

"What I'm saying, kid, is there's no wrong or right reason to go about searching what you're looking for. Just be careful and make sure it's what _you_ want.”

Brown chocolate eyes looked back up to the old man. His shoulders sagged

He was right.

 

*

 

Connor had Hank. Nines had Gavin. And Sixty had no one but his damned right hand.

Maybe Tina was right. What he was simply looking for was a connection to fill the loneliness. Sex could only fill the void for so long until...until it made him feel like he did the other night.

Empty. Used. Dirty.

Perhaps it was about time to seek out a relationship, to seek out an emotional bond. The wanting of trust and security and devotion. Was it selfish to want another person to know the burdens he felt?

He took another sip of thirium. Sixty had no reason to be at a bar, especially a hole in the wall place like this besides to overthink and brew in his thoughts. There was a hole somewhere in the wall as a matter of fact because there was a terrible draft at his feet.

He didn’t trust the sanitation here either. He saw a mouse or two scurry across the ground of the bar. But this was one of the places he hadn’t been to yet.

He could understand why Hank never stayed too long. Sitting at the bar had him feeling more and dirtier.

Even when his thoughts brought his attention anywhere else than what was tangible. In defeat, he settled upon his decision to no longer entertain his straying musings

When he was about to step off the stool and pay his tab for the thirium they, surprisingly served, a rather handsome man came from behind him and was insistent with his flirtings.

Everything that had been mulled over was thrown out of the window in the moment of heated desire. He was handsome, young, strong, a jaw he couldn’t resist.

Who was he to deny something so good?

After all, Hank said so himself. What you wanted never came to you when you were searching for it.

Sixty smirked brown eyes speaking volumes of trouble as they flicked down to chapped broken lips that he couldn’t resist.

It fell into your lap when you least expected it.

Friendly hands were placed upon his thighs before they traveled to his ass.

“Hello there.” Sixty rumbled.

“Don’t leave yet.”

The android paused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He felt something he hadn't felt before. The predatory voice the man took on was something exciting but at the same time, made his stomach twist in knots. Or so that's what he would have felt if he had one.

“Not alone?" Sixty guessed coyly. He paid for the tab and was immediately whisked away by the human he hadn't even learned the name of yet.

Instead of going out to the car for the deed, he was led out to the side alleyway.

That sensation in his abdomen? It grew tenfold. But before he could call time out, those lips were upon his, and anything logic was thrown out the window. He tasted like whiskey and stale cigarettes.

There was a sound of a zipper being forced down, and that's when Sixty pulled away. That growing sensation screaming at him to get away. That there was danger. But the taste of the kiss lulled him into a false sense of security.

Desperate, pushy hands grip his belt and pants. Sixty breaks away from the heated kiss, senses becoming too sharp as his instincts, this time, screamed at him.

The smell of the alley became sharp with piss and garbage, the hot breath of the humans was hungry and desperate. And past his handsome features, he saw dangerous intent shining in dull hazel eyes.

His zipper was pulled down, and suddenly Sixty felt disgusted and dirty. This wasn't some rough foreplay.

“Hey, I’m sorry, um look-” Sixty began rather shyly.

But the hand continues to pull at him, digging past the band of his boxers for his cock. A gasp escapes him, but his cock wasn't hard. Not this time.

“Stop.” He spits angrily.

“Enough, babe. You want this." Head spinning from this new danger, his knees were kicked out, and he was bowing in front of a bare and ugly looking cock.

The sensation in his stomach he pinpointed as fear was traded for anger. He growled.

“You know, this would be really kinky and hot if I were in the mood. But-!" Sixty griped his cock and yanked it down as he stands once again. He takes his knee and slams it into his chest before tossing him away from his body. “I said no, sweetheart!”

There was suddenly a knife flicked out of the man's wrist, and it drew thirium by the end of the fight. It didn't matter in the end, Sixty had kicked the shit out the human. His face didn't look so handsome anymore.

“Fuckin’ android!”

Yeah, he didn't like this discovery mid-fight.

“You were about to!" Sixty bellowed, hot breath clouding before his lips.

The human tripped forward and caught himself on a limp hand before scuttling away. “Fucking disgusting.”

Sixty stared after the human with bleary eyes and adjusted his pants. He cursed under his breath and waved him off. “Would have lasted longer anyway….” He huffed.

For a moment, the android recovered from the skirmish simply leaning against the grimy brick in the alley. Shaking hands gripped his belt, adjusted his zipper, and button to his pants. Numbly they fell to his sides as he looked up into the night sky. Thirium trailed down his ripped shirt from his chest that rose and fell as his artificial breathing finally quieted down and cooled an overheating body.

In the silence that followed, he cursed inwardly towards himself. The decision he made at the bar despite the past musings against it was made because of weak will. The realization of the result of said choice if he was just an ordinary man truly settled in.

He bowed his head, pressing his hand to his face with a broken sound from his throat. The advice of his family and peers struck him rather firmly.

This personal journey was over.


	6. REASON #6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the delay but here is the next chapter! Thank you for the kudos and comments and views everyone I super appreciate it! A big shout out to Spacebiotics for beta reading this chapter! Thank you so much girlie, love you! Head on over to her profile and give her fics some love!
> 
> If you guys are interested, I have a playlist based on my take on Sixty’s personalty on Spotify. I also use this playlist to write many of the scenes in the fic as a moodsetter. Give it a listen!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2y8jSNNgwg3Ju9qQnkPS2X?si=RX6lhdc1RrGvIxMC-iPsOw  
> Find me on tumblr and drop a line! @technohumanlation

* * *

He makes her smile

* * *

 

 

With hands in his pockets, Sixty walked into the medical ward with a certain energy in his step. "Hey, dickey doc. I need some blue juice.”

He didn’t bother to stop or fully acknowledge the humans in the room. The android helped himself, making his way to the mini-fridge to pluck out a pack of thirium. 

“Sixty,” Howard, the man that had saved his ass a few times prior, smiled. “Have you met our new technician? She’s an intern from the state of Ohio, hailing from London! Top of her class! Amazing!”

His nasally voice matched his figure. A mean comb-over could never erase the baldness, and his potbelly and short stature were the cherry on top. He was a good man with not so gentle healing hands.

Sixty turned around, chugging from the pack hungrily, peering over its edge down to her. He lowered it from his lips choking on the damned liquid. Shit, it was the bitch he had seen only a handful of times. “A new barbie doll, how sweet.” He barely croaked out. 

“Kayla Grant.” She reached her hand forward with a practiced smile. “Nice to meet you.” 

He recovered, pointing the finger at her. "I'm sorry, I think I've met you before. In my dreams." He smiled, voice faraway. 

She wasn’t impressed. She dropped her hand. Shame.

“No, no, I'm actually serious. When I saved that kid from the fire, you were the one to patch me up, I think." Her eyes narrowed at him curiously. Sixty looked to Howard for confirmation. 

Thankfully, he cut the tension by stepping into the conversation with a nod. "She was! You were in and out of consciousness, it seemed." He turned to her voice lower. "I knew it." 

“I must have coded your dormant state and tactile nerves incorrectly. I apologize if you remember any discomforts." She wasn't. His tone said otherwise. 

“No, not at all just...wow." The bitch, uh miss Grant, was actually really, _really,_ beautiful. She was a short little human. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, dark green eyes staring back at him through thin wired glasses. Her white laboratory coat hid a lean figure.

And her sweet, sweet English lilt. 

It had his pump doing strange little things. And no, this wasn’t a kink. 

“-long as he didn’t feel pain or was aware of the situation you did well.” Howard’s limp dick voice made him come back from his thoughts. He was glad. A woody was springing.

“Shit, if I saw you with a medical light behind your head lookin' all angel-like, no need to feel guilty, I think that was just your halo." 

“He’s a charmer.” She drawled unimpressed. 

Howard coughed into a fist. “He's...ah yes. He is..." He couldn't quite put his finger on him, and that was fine. "eccentric?" 

“Should have made his state a little more aware if he was like this.” Her eyes flicked up from sizing him up. Her eyebrows were so fucking fierce. He was almost jealous. 

“Oh, spicy little pad tai, you are." He took a sip of his thirium packet and chuckled. "I like that." He placed a finger on her nose, and she backed away, her face twisting into discomfort. 

“Well, duty calls, nerds. Gotta fly." He saluted them both and made his way out the door, dropping the packet in the trash. "I'm sure I'll see more of you Kay Kay. It's in my nature to get a little bruised up." 

“And then some." She turned away from the android, and Sixty smirked. He liked her. He liked her a lot.  

   

And of course, a hit had indeed gone wrong, winding him into the medical ward with a detached arm. Who knew the guy had a fucking katana lying around in the trunk of his car? Honestly, he was more impressed than pissed that he was an arm down. He still got the fucker anyway. He would make a specific note of that in the report. 

He watched as the woman worked diligently and quietly. Aside from her perfected wardrobe and visage, her hands were dainty and clean. Not a speck of dirt was under her rounded and clean fingernails. If he were to guess, it was the pride of her work that called for such perfection. Even her hair and eyebrows were sculpted with the same hands. Everything about her left no room for error. Not even the way her lips rested together. Relaxed and still. No sign of gnawing them or chapped skin. Her forest eyes remained focused on the nerves she connected one by one by hand. 

All of which, he noted, could have been done mechanically by machine. She could have pressed his off switch, and a half-hour later, he could have been whole. But no. Instead, Kayla kept him manually hooked up to the tri-data pad via neck ports keeping watch over his vitals with a flick of her eyes every so often. 

He had tried to bring up such a fact, but she did not reply. He wasn't angry, but more so irked by her unresponsiveness. Perhaps she was a traditionalist. Maybe she liked to be in control. It was a genuine question he wanted an answer for. And 'what ifs' could only fill the silence for so long.  

So. He tried a different approach that seemed to entice a reaction out of her just a few days prior. Sixty smirked. "No need to be quiet around me, baby. I like them loud after all." 

Her hands paused, but her eyes never moved away from her work. "Perhaps you should not be sexually harassing the technician that could kill you in a slow ten-minute countdown." 

There it was. Sixty didn't know how much he would fucking love it. Her tongue was quick and lashing like a whip, her accent making it even deadlier. Sixty smirked before performing a dramatic gasp. "You wouldn’t dare!"

Miss Grant did not make a move or notion that she was listening to him. Kayla remained enraptured by her repairs. For a moment, Sixty guessed that she simply ignored him and forgot the quip. But not a moment later, after he settled on the guess, a timer suddenly came into his vision. 

Panic rose in him the moment it began to count down from ten. “Hey, doc?”

But the human next to him remained calm and simply put down her tools. “Hey, real funny…”

Kayla never made eye contact with him or acknowledged his words. He was helpless as he watched her walk away and out of the lab.

Sixty, forced to stay in his spot because of his arm literally dangling by nerves could only balk after her. “Hey! _Hey!_ Fuckin’ get back here!” He seethed.

But Miss Grant didn’t come back. He yelled out her name once more and still nothing. When he was about to resort to calling his brother and reporting the psychopathic bitch, Kayla came back, delicately holding a microwavable meal by its edges. It was piping hot.

“What the...?” He murmured in disbelief. Never had he ever been vibe checked so hard in his whole entire lifespan. 

He watched as Kayla sat on a table across from him, blatantly refusing to acknowledge his existence. Gracefully, she crossed her leg over the other and twirled a forkful of pasta. Delicate lips curled to blow on it. 

Sixty was fuming. "You-! You think this is funny?" 

She chewed for a moment. Swallowed. Her voice was leveled and calm. "No. I don’t like it.

Then why the fuck was she doing this? What was the point? Honestly, getting shot in the head was a peg below this stunt. What the fuck was she trying to prove? _What was her point?_ Was it- oh.

Oh, come on... 

"You gotta be _kidding_ me.” He said in defeat, rolling his eyes along with his head in exasperation. “Okay, okay, I won't fucking trigger your inner social justice warrior anymore, fuck." 

Kayla flicked an eyebrow above the rim of her glasses, eyeing him carefully just as she was about to take another bite of her lunch. She continued to mull over the words for a moment before placing her meal down on the table next to her.  

With one smooth motion, she jumped off the table and took a step forward. Miss Grant tapped at the datapad, and immediately the countdown blinked out of existence. 

It should have elicited such a thrill from him, but the kind smile, a deadly feminine curl to her lips, was dangerous. No, Sixty felt fear. "Glad to get formalities out of the way.” She leaned forward, whispering into his ear. He fought a sound that built in his throat. "They’re such a _bore_." 

And horny.

And only when she backed away, narrowing her eyes with a mischievous smile, did he allow a moan to escape. Her accent emphasized the word so deliciously. She sat down at his side and continued her work.  

Sixty remained silent only because his mind was attempting to catch up with what the fuck happened between them was real or a wet dream. Either way, Sixty couldn't help but feel like Hank and Barb. 

Just more twisted with a dash of kinkiness and half-hard cock. He flicked his eyes down to the human by his side and finally settled on a smirk. They always said to watch out for the quiet ones.

   

That night Sixty couldn't get his mind off of the quiet and fierce Kayla Grant. The last person to put him in his place was Connor… and Hank. Okay, two people. But they were lucky and knew how to make him listen to their words. A simple 'shut up' or 'do as I say' would get you a middle finger flat out in their face.  

But they? They knew how to tame him and get him to focus on a task at hand. Knew when to tell him that enough was enough. 

Kayla was added to the list.

The android leaned back in his bed with an exhausted exhale. He couldn't get her out of his head. Both heads, for that matter. He didn't bother to clean up after himself, the thought of what those delicate hands could do to him. Those lips against places he could only dream of.  

“ _Fuck_..." He pressed his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. Thinking about her had him growing excited again. Gently he palmed himself once again but refrained. He felt guilt run through him. Disgust.  

This wasn't about the sex, though. The fantasies. This wasn't about the simple fulfillment of a need. This was something more.  

And it terrified him.

From his side, Sixty rushed towards Hank and slid his ass across his desk, pushing aside the datapads he was working on so that he practically sitting in front of him. His crotch was eye level with the old human. But he never allowed the human to react properly. He held his face in his hands and looked around the bullpen. "I don't know what to do, but I want to _fuck_ Kayla.”

Hank slapped his hands away before backing away from his desk. “Sixty, what the fuck?!” He straightened out his jacket and leveled the android sitting before him with a critical eye. “You don’t waste time. Thought you were over that shit?” 

“No, no, this is _different_.” He insisted. 

Exasperated, Hank took the bait. “How?” He drawled. 

“I...I don’t know. I want to fuck her personality?” He narrowed his eyes. “That sounded a lot better in my head.”

Hank sagged his shoulders, looking around the bullpen. "The new tech downstairs, Sixty?" 

“What?” 

Hank’s smile made the android’s panic settle further into his struts. 

“Sixty, you like her.” He blinked slowly. 

"Yeah, I know that. Wait, _what_?” He said again.

Hank chuckled. “You like her.” He repeated unhelpfully. “As in, you appreciate her personality and like her for who she is. How long have you known her? She’s been here for a few weeks now...”

“I only learned her name yesterday," Sixty admitted unhelpfully. 

“Jesus Christ." Hank breathed exasperated, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Okay, look, maybe get to know her first before you start humping her leg." He looked back up to him, placing a placating hand out towards him. 

“Wait. Like talking with her? Did I fail to mention she almost killed me yesterday? Don’t give me that look, she did! Oh my God, no one believes me! Hank, seriously I think I’m in love with her.”

And upon that realization, Sixty became silent, looking down to his hands and then back to the only human he could ever call dad. 

“You’re right.” He confessed in horror. “This isn’t like the other times.”

“If she likes you enough, uh, even after trying to kill you,” He added awkwardly. “Give it a try. Maybe get her a coffee. Apologize for being an ass to her, because no doubt, any woman with a sense of dignity would want to kill you.”

“I know! She doesn’t take my shit!” He paused. “It’s kinda hot.” He said offhandedly.

Hank leveled him with a good-natured smile before it melted into annoyance. He slapped the android’s knee. “Now, get the fuck off my desk, Sixty. I was doing something before your high school dick crashed in.”

   

So, Sixty was determined to win her heart in any way he could. And asking her to have sex with him wasn’t on the table. That is if he wanted his dick to be chopped off with those hands of hers and shoved down his throat. Somehow that made him horny. 

Besides the point. 

One afternoon, he decided to send her a box wrapped in red paper with a delicate bow on top. From afar, he watched her walk into her lab and perform a rather cute double-take at the tiny box. Slowly, Kayla approached, scrutinizing the package with narrowed eyes and creased eyebrows. Delicate hands took the cover off, and Sixty could barely contain himself. 

She looked inside the empty box with a single note in it.

" _Your sense of humor.”_

Kayla looked up and immediately found him, along with his sparkling eyes and grin that split his face. With a grunt of annoyance, she chucked the box at the door where he was waiting. The android laughed chaotically, retreating to avoid her wrath.

   

To avoid her wrath, Sixty was smart. He hacked into security, accessing C.C. to watch his prey from afar. It was another day, and he watched Kayla walk into her lab right on time. She flicked on the lights and made her way over to her desk in the corner where she found his ever so gracious present. Yeah, he knew what the ladies liked. Especially when he caught wind of lady gossip. Waiting for her was a red balloon attached to a jar of pickles with a package of tampons nearby. 

Another note was posted on the box.

" _Sorry about your uterus :(“_

“ _Sixty_ …!” She drawled out his name, caustically. 

He cackled.  

   

The day was almost over and so far uneventful for the most part. While Howard was away on paid vacation, the technician had taken time to take stock of supplies, organize and rid of anything that was expired, or did not pass her standard of perfection.  

Was it stalking at this point? Maybe. Did he care? No. But Sixty couldn't let this one getaway. Not when she made him feel like...like this. He had to win her somehow.  

At the end of her shift, she walked out of the lab and to the parking lot. He changed over to the third parking lot camera that offered a view of Kayla fishing around her bag for her keys as she walked towards her car. And upon circling around a truck that, no doubt, blocked her compact car from her sight, she stopped dead.

Fluttering in the wind and attached to her car were red balloons and crepe paper.  He couldn't see it, but he bet her ears turned the same color as the rage visibly came over her in a thick, trembling wave.

The finishing touch? On the windshield in bright, bold letters read: _“not pregnant!”_

The next day Kayla walked into her lab with heated steps. Today she wore thin wired frame glasses and her hair in a ponytail. It was adorable. She went directly to her desk to take on whatever Sixty decided to bestow upon her. And, there before her, was a coffee waiting for her. 

He watched as her anger ebbed away for carefulness, on high alert. It was innocent. Too innocent. 'What was the catch' he could see her thinking. But there was none. Not really. 

She picked it up and spun the still-hot coffee in her hand, examining it for booby traps of any sort. He had gotten it from the same coffee shop Hank liked to go to on his breaks. The one where he and his father had their first heart to pump chat.  

Her shoulders sagged when she found the slight catch, and Sixty smiled.  

In thick sharpie read her name completely misspelled to the point of bastardization, done purposely.  

" _Kahyluh”_

Next to it, he made sure to draw a mocking cheesy heart.  

She couldn’t find it in herself to be angry this time around. She looked around the lab as if wondering if she was being watched and took a sip from it, turning to start her day.

Light and sweet. 

Just like her smile that graced her lips at the first sip. It had his thirium pump clenching in such an odd manner. It almost took his breath away and had him smiling too. 

   

Lieutenant Hank Anderson was intently reading past reports of a link homicide at his desk when she walked in. His ever so rough and gruff voice made her stop dead in her tracks. "So, you have Romeo's attention."  

Kayla didn't turn around to face him. Not at first, but when she did, her expression betrayed no emotion. Comically enough, Sixty was nearby under the desk behind the old man. He watched through the space between two panels of the desk that didn't quite touch. He wanted to make the final move but needed a wingman to do so.  

He had begged the old man to fish around for answers. To really get inside her head when he was so afraid to. Afraid? Him? Never… no… not because of some woman he didn't want to mess up around, rA9 no…well... 

Her shaky voice caught his attention once more. “It’s...he may have mistaken me saving his life for affection.” She started out rather dumbly.

It made Sixty’s heart ache in a way he never felt before. His eyes slid to Hank, hoping he would put an end to that load of shit.

Hank pulled his attention away from the pad and eyed her. “You sound convinced.” He rumbled.

Ha.

“I...” 

"When are you just going to admit that someone likes you, Kayla? You're young but not dumb..." His voice was softer and all too familiar.  

Has Hank known her before this? His eyebrows drew together. He was speaking to her awfully friendly. 

“Hank..." She took a few steps closer to him and dropped her bag on his desk. He was surprised to see the woman reach out and grip his fingers in a sincere hold. "You're like a father to me. To almost anyone in here with broken wings." 

The man smiled back and shook her hand lovingly. "So, you know what I'm doing right now." He ticked his head to the side. Sixty couldn't see it, but along with that tone of voice, he knew the old man's tired eyes were sparkling in a way that always had him giving into his words of wisdom. 

A sad smile split across her lips. “I don’t want the precinct to get the wrong idea.”

Hank released a hearty chuckle. “Are you embarrassed by the wooing tactics?” He smirked.

And she smiled, a breath of laughter leaving her. "The 'not pregnant' stunt was...embarrassing but funny. He has charm, but..." 

“But?”

“It’s not professional.”

Hank considered her words for a moment. “Gavin and Nines. You’re not that new, so surely you know about them?”

“The RK900? Really? Him and Reed?” She said with surprise. 

 He nodded once. “They don’t make it public. But yep. They’re professional.” His tone challenged her rebound.

Something visibly struck a cord within the woman because she was scrambling to retreat. "I'll think about it, Hank. I have to go." Sixty didn't want to see her go. She was so beautiful. What had Hank knowing of her? Why did she have broken wings? Why? Why? Why?

“Not too much. Don’t try and solve or fix him, kid. That’s not how he works. Remember that.”

When she gathered her belongings, and her footfall grew distant, that is when he came out of hiding coming to stand in front of him with his hands on his hips. He sighed heavily. 

“I don’t think that worked, pops.”

Hank went back to the terminal before him and scrolled through a case absentmindedly. “The bug is in her ear, so just wait a bit, kid." 

“Am I doing this right? I practically stalk her, found out when her period was, what kind of coffee she likes, and...she still won't talk to me!" 

“Have you tried _talking_ to her?”

Upon that, the android made a realization, his expression falling rather heavily. "N-no, I don't want to mess it up and..." 

“Sixty, I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think you two had a chance. You got good intentions and you have a good heart. I think you’re exactly what she needs.”

“Really?”

“Sure, you have humor that gets under her skin and past her walls. She didn't take your bullshit and knocked you down a few pegs. I've known her since last year and believe me, she's been put through the wringer many times. Guys are cruel when they want to be." 

The thought of someone hurting her had him growling. He closed his eyes shut, stamping down such an odd reaction out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He scrambled to get a hold of his growing frustrations. 

“Because I was testing you. Seeing what ya really wanted. You’re not looking for a fuck. You’re looking for her.” He nodded once, crossing his arms on his desk. 

Sixty looked back in the direction of the elevator. She was long gone, but he couldn't help but look anyhow. He didn't have time to feel betrayed, because Hank had every right to protect Kayla from him. Especially right after his recent excursions. A soft expression came over his face as he scrubbed a hand down his face in exasperation.  

“I like her, Hank. I just want to know her a little more." He looked down at the floor and shook his head. "I'm scared. I don't want to mess this up." 

“It's not messing it up or not. Knowing she likes you or not is part of the game. Sometimes they like you, sometimes they don't. It's not your choice, and you can't do anything to change that. You wouldn't want to force her, right?" 

“No!" Sixty barked with more force than intended, but Hank smiled upon the correct reaction. 

“Right, so let her decide. Another coffee will do and maybe a hello wouldn't hurt. Grow some balls." He chuckled.  "You're always talking about how Gavin should choke on them all the time." 

 

Unfortunately, Sixty didn't have time for a coffee or visit. A hit went out, and like a good attack dog, he went after it. It took two days, but he eventually found his target. 

Though this hit had a rather resilient fight to them. 

A grunt of pain left the android as he was dropped on the medical table, thirium splattering to the ground, dripping off the sides of the metal. “Fuck!” Sixty barked. “N-Nines!” 

If it weren't for the fact he had his brother as backup, the hit would have gotten away and he’d would have been left to die. 

The brother reached out to grip his forearm blindly. 

Harold was by his side, flicking a flashlight into his eyes. "Rebar. They tossed him off the third story. His cranial unit had a slight bleed but stopped. His nanites may have fixed it already." Nines' voice was foggy in his hearing. So...was that what was blocking his hearing? 

His fucking brains? Or was he crying? Those tears betrayed his emotions. A delirious laugh.

Shaky hands were grasping at the torn holes in his stomach, and a curt cry of pain left him. Through gritted teeth, he hissed a labored breath. "Buy-buy me dinner, doc." Harold was never known for his gentle bedside manner. 

“You know what to do, RK900." Harold urged.  

Suddenly there was a forced interface, and Sixty grunted upon Nines' insistent presence to be within. He felt him swimming desperately through his processor. A sensation he was no foreigner to. His presence was cold, liquid ice as he traveled through his very being. He welcomed him after a short fight.  

After giving way, his brother found what he was looking for because it appeared into his vision. “A timer has begun. Only ten minutes. Stabilize the main thirium lines and -”

“I know." Among the chaos, came the stern hand of order and calm. The familiar voice floated above him, and a drunken smile crossed his lips.  

Kayla. 

He would be fine now, her hands fixed him once, and they would do it again. 

“I'm staying." Nines' stern voice was predatory, his interface remained steady as he was. It felt good to have his brother so close when he felt like he was floating. The pain? Nothing? What the hell was going on? One moment he was fighting the guy, and then next, he was thrown off, gravity taking over only to be cut off with the harsh sounds of metal stabbing and ripping through his chassis.After that, his head hit something hard, and the world spun. 

His head still pounded though not as much. The timer that counted down in his vision was something to worry about but Kayla was here now.

“Without me, you cannot-" 

“ _Without_ you, I can focus on my work." She bit back. Her face was all he saw in his vision, the medical light above was turned on, and her halo was upon her head as a rightful crown. rA9, she was beautiful.  

Harold’s timid voice spoke up. “We don't have time for this. If I have an android telling me what to do, I can work precisely." 

She looked towards the man, and the glare was enough to silence him. 

“Get out. My word is final.” Kayla’s strong accent made his heart flutter ever more so than what it was. 

The room became silent, and the interface was reluctantly broken. Nines was standing before her, fierce blues, just as the blood upon him stared into hazel fire. "If he worsens, or falls, you will have more to worry about than making sure he lives, Miss Grant."  

She remained stern, disregarding him with a heated side glance before her hands were felt upon him. Nines left, and all that remained was the nerd, the beauty, and the beast. 

“H-hey babe...” Sixty greeted though was cut off when thirium flooded his mouth. His eyebrows creased together in strain as he coughed wet strips of blood.

“Shut up," Kayla ordered. But it wasn't because he had irked her. No. This time the tone was different. Curt but with no heat. 

Equipment was brought closer to him, hands were suddenly digging into his abdomen. A cry of pain left him, but she did not falter nor stop. A hand flew up to grip her hip. Not to cop a feel. The pain was unbearable.  

Pain was never an issue. Pain was good. It felt good. So why did he feel so weak? Was giving into it all?

“Disable tactile sensors to ninety percent, Harold. Don't have him go under, or his systems will lock him into stasis.” She ordered.

A thick wire was connected to the port upon the back of his neck and locked into place with a firm jolt. “Got it.” After another moment of searing pain, the burning was suddenly replaced with pressure and numbness. Bare, unprepared hands continued to dig into him. Those dainty thin fingers were setting out to manually heal him. Bitch was fucking crazy. He...loved her so fucking much. 

“K-Kayla?”

“Shut up.” She snapped, a curt sound of surprise left her when a splotch of thirium gushed from an open thirium line.

He settled his head back onto the table and closed his eyes a grimace crossing his expression. 

“I found the compromised main pump line, get me clamps.”

“I’m trying to set up-!”

“Forget the _fucking_ machine, Howard! Get me the fucking clamps!”

Kayla yanked something within him, and he barked out, his chest curling upward. Not all his nerve sensors were turned off. He had to stay awake. Worried hazel eyes flicked momentarily down to him as the nerd scrambled through drawers.  

More thirium continued to flood the table, and eventually, it began to drip from the table in a thick stream, staining the floor with an equally growing puddle.  

His timer skipped pasted a few numbers. 

He wasn’t scared. He had worse. Much worse than this before. He looked down to those hands stained and dripping with blue, knowing Kayla held his life in her hands, quite literally, he knew he would be alright. 

“If-if..." He began with a shuddering breath as Howard was by his side, practically pushing clamps into her hands. Hands that began to shake ever so slightly. She made no indication she was listening. But she was, oh, he knew she was. Her eyes were twinkling in her halos' light. 

“If I make it...” Pressure built in his chest as Kayla continued to scramble to save his life. Artificial life. 

“I gotta take ya out...n-nice dinner. Maybe..." His head swam, and his throat closed in on his voice. "Maybe bang ya good." A flick of a bastard smirk came to his lips, but it dissipated as his expression began to relax. The timer continued to clock down. 

Kayla never paused, her hands shaking more and more. She looked at his relaxing expression and gritted her teeth, slapping his face. Hard. It worked because his attention was snapped back to her. "Yeah, yeah...whatever, Sixty. Just keep spewing shit." 

“I-I can...” He stuttered.

She smiled, rA9 that beautiful smile. It wasn't happy, but quite the opposite, pained and forced. It showed perfect teeth and a lopsided curve. "Just stay awake." 

His vision started to swim, and he couldn't help but memorize that smile. "S-shit….you actually like me." Less delicate hands were now touching the side of his temple where his LED would have been if he hadn't had an identity crisis months ago. "Tapping into his processor now, Miss Grant." 

“No...just...” The smile faded for but a moment acknowledging her partner with a nod.  Kayla’s hands backed away from the mess that was his abdomen, trading it to cup the side of his face. “You've mistaken my kindness for affection." 

Sixty paused, savoring that touch, leaning into it with a gentle smile and relaxing expression. 

“Yeah-yeah...heard that before...”

The touch that comforted him and rather than keeping him awake, it caused him to slip into the dreaded stasis. All went black, but that was quite alright. Nothing could ever live up to that smile and the newfound gentle touch of another.  

When Sixty walked out of her lab, he had been taken off duty for four days. On the fifth, he visited her. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, watching as she typed at her terminal, shouldering a phone between her cheek and shoulder. He was hesitant to cross the threshold, and he took a moment to understand why. 

She was going on and on about a new update mandatory for the androids in their ranks. Something about a new firewall and how it would benefit them. 

"Thank you, Fowler. Starting next Wednesday, I'll have it ready and schedule the people that need the update.” She hung up the phone. But what amazed him was, without a skipped beat during the action, she continued to type with her one hand. The other fell in line as words scrolled across the report at a precise speed. Not a misspelled word was in sight. No red markings, unlike his old man.

He noticed the way a lock of hair came undone from her hairstyle and was effortlessly placed behind her ear, along with pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

A soft smile came to his lips, just _watching_ her. 

He may have done so through cameras and security feeds, but nothing felt more intimate that standing before her in the flesh.  

She was effortlessly gorgeous, and all his tactics to get on her good side were all to waste. Even if he was a bastard, he wanted her.

So, bravely, taking his father's words seriously, he tried one last time, with heart and meaning. If it would fail, then, well, who was he to force another?  

He gently rapped his knuckles on the edge of the glass door. In the other hand, he held yarn and a book about crocheting. Kayla looked up, the first word with red markings appearing on her report. With narrowed eyes, she looked upon who dared to interrupt her. Immediately the expression turned hostile and even more so when Sixty presented her with the gag gift.

“For you know, holding me together. Might be a hobby you’re interested in?” He rumbled softly.

She set her jaw, her expression turning furious. "You have some nerve, don't you?" She stood up from her desk and made her way over to the surgical table picking up a tray that needed to be cleaned. 

It was an attempt to seem busy, not that she already was. Staying in one spot meant being vulnerable. Reading such mannerisms was part of his job, after all. “My charms aren’t working yet, huh?”

“Charms? Is that what you call those stunts?” The human seethed, pursing her pretty lips together. Today her hair wasn’t drawn back but was delicately styled over her shoulders. She was...

Beautiful. 

Sixty’s eyes softened, lost in his inner musings to not notice the fact she had quickly gained ground on him. 

He was slapped. Hard.

He tilted his head away from her and blinked rapidly. The sting of the slap remained, and he couldn't quite gather enough effort to smile.  

“Buy me-”

“You almost died, and you still want to flirt with me?!" She all but roared. But something in her voice made him look back to her with growing worry. The usual stern tone she typically gave her lit wavered and fell away. "You almost died!" She repeated. 

Sixty slowly placed the crocheting kit on the table and turned to face her fully. She seemed so...vulnerable. He had seen her so stern and so calm. But seeing her come undone so easily made him worried. Made him want to fix it.

Why was she coming undone so quickly? Especially over the likes of him?

“I was _holding,”_ She started, her words slow, but they became quicker as her temper rose. "your fucking lines in my hands, you fucking dumb ass window vista on two legs!”

Her voice was shaking, and it was not okay, a glimmer to those sharp hazel eyes had his thirium pump aching.  

He didn’t like her sad.

As a matter of fact, it was wrong.  

“Harsh...” Was all he could manage from his stupid, indeed, windows vista of a processor. Howard must have rewired him wrong after that cranial bleed. 

" _Fuck_ you." She pointed a stern finger in his face, lips curling inward as that familiar fierceness came back. The woman rushed past him, and he followed.  

"Kayla, wait. Please..." 

“Get out.” She warned without meeting his eyes.   

“I’m-”

“Get out!”

“I’m sorry!” He rushed forward and took her hands into his and held them tightly. 

She tried struggling out of his grip, but it was half hearted. Although he wasn't holding her hands in a death grip, he would never be that persistent. It felt as if she genuinely, deep down, didn't want him to go or pull away. 

The woman sagged her shoulders, closing her eyes to gather up what little patience she had left. “You’re a bastard.” 

“I’ve been told.” He drew closer to her, jaw locking as he looked down at her, her anger dwindling away to defeat. He hadn't planned to get this far to be quite frank, and he didn't know what he was doing, but in the most cliche of ways, he relied on ol' twisted humor to turn him in the right direction. 

"I've wanted to tell you something for a while now." 

She remained quiet, never looking up to meet his eyes. 

“I know my personality isn’t meant for everyone, and I know I’m a bit fucked up.” His eyes darted away, then back to her, reconsidering those words. “Okay, really fucked up, but you don't put up with it. You don't put up with any of my shit, and I like that. I like how you're a step ahead of me and...” His eyes looked over to the small radio in the corner of the lab by her desk. He resisted the curl that wanted to come to his lips. 

“And...thank you. For saving me.” He offered in a small voice, drawing her to press against his chest. He continued to hold one of her hands, the other drawing carefully behind her back, making it clear that she could fight back if she wanted to.   

“I held your lines…" She repeated, but this time in a barely-there murmur. 

“I know.”

“So much thirium. I- I can manage it but... it was you." And slowly, so slowly, she pressed her forehead into his chest. "You're so stupid." 

Something bloomed upon the surrender of trust and security. Something that made his thirium pump stutter and skip. But it was short-lived because the heaviness of the insult meant so much more.  "Sadly, it's part of my job." He responded. 

“And you like it.” She pointed out ruthlessly.

He rolled his eyes and head dramatically. What could he say to that? That he enjoyed danger? Pain? Enjoyed the risks and the way he needed such high doses of _life_ to make him feel alive? That he needed to have a sick sense of humor to drown out all the bad shit?

“I tell everyone, I'm fucked in the head." He confessed. And with that, a song suddenly blared from the radio, causing her to sink impossibly more in defeat. 

“Sixty?”

“Yes, darling?” He chirped.

“What are you doing?” The exasperation was heavy in her voice. 

“Whatever do you mean, darling?" 

He suddenly drew her close, taking her hand so that he was able to tilt her down and began to force her dance to the song. For a moment, she allowed him to do so, and he felt victory, but he knew it would be short-lived. 

She came to her senses quickly. “Enough, Sixty this isn’t-!” She was cut off when he made the music louder. 

It angered her further. "Enough! Kayla pushed him away, but he continued to dance, swaying his hips and shuffling his feet. His arms were raised to rock along with the beat of the old-time song.  

A smile pulled at her lips even as she tried to stay angry. Sixty saw that ever so slight glimmer of what he sought out the most and continued to dance. 

“This is highly inappropriate.”

He raised his eyebrows, bouncing them as he spun and offered his hands to her, continuing to shuffle to the song, now mouthing the words. 

“You’re immature.”

He knew this. 

“I’m not doing this, Sixty!”

He spun with a flourish and paused, ticking his head in mock consideration. “My predictions say otherwise, love.”

“Well, they’re wrong!”

He smiled tutting. “You’re pouting...” 

She shook her head when she found herself, indeed pouting. “I am not! Just-ugh!" She tried to rush by him to the radio at her desk, but he saw the opportunity. He reached out and gripped her forearm, using her momentum to swing her back into his arms.  

Slowly and surely, her protests began to weaken and soon enough, she had to bow her head to hide away what Sixty knew would eventually happen.  

She swayed once and then twice, taking his hand into hers reluctantly. “I think I do like you...” Kayla murmured in horror.

“Really? How strange. Only someone so daft could fall for the likes of me." He mocked her accent perfectly. A scoff of humor fell from her lips. Over the music, he heard it, but for the sake of her pride, he ignored it. “And who runs on windows vista?”

She slapped him across the face again, but it was much gentler. He didn't dare to take offense. His expression softened. Slowly he stopped them, and they stood together with the music echoing in her lab and down the hall. Hesitantly Sixty pressed the bridge of his nose against her own and tipped her head back, his lips ghosting over her own. 

He paused, allowing her to pull away. But she never did. Instead, it was her lips that were crashing over his. A surprised sound left his throat, and suddenly he was on a whirlwind ride of a kiss that had his head dizzy and pants slightly tighter.  

Before Sixty could really show her what she meant to him, Kayla pulled away, covering her mouth in shock, blinking rapidly upon what she just did. 

Before she ran off, Sixty was quick to explain all his stupid tactics and flirting and-

“I just want to see that smile again," Sixty confessed quickly, pressing his forehead against hers. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her close by the small of her back. The song continued to blare from the radio. 

And finally, the fruits of his labor of past days and the moments of now were rewarded. A brilliant smile that made dimples appear in her cheeks, crows feet crease at the corners of her eyes, spread across her face. It made him smile in return, something so infectious. 

“You do,” She confessed, swiping a hand across her face in exasperation though she still felt joy. “You make me smile.”


	7. REASON #7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Hope everyone is doing well. A forewarning that this chapter is pretty bloody and uh...angsty. If you are sensitive to that stuff maybe skip out on this part? (for comparison, if you read chapter two and could manage that then you can make due with this.) Other than that happy reading!
> 
> A shout out to DeviantAlicee for helping me out on a major part in this chapter. Thank you for your endless grammar wisdom I bow to you. (Give her fics a look see you won't be disappointed at all <3) 
> 
> Moodsetters for this chapter specifically:  
> "Down The Road" by C2C  
> "All Fall Down" by OneRepublic  
> "Nothing Left To Say/ Rocks" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

REASON #7 you never know what you got (until it’s gone)

* * *

 

 

Nights like this were the ones that Sixty always looked forward to. Nothing outside the walls of this home mattered more than his family. 

He held a packet of thirium between his hands as they all watched the game. Hank's favorite team was playing and currently winning, placing the old man in good spirits. He flicked a smile when he clenched a fist and exclaimed in victory when a three-point shot was made.  

“Impressive, there was a low percentage of that shot even making it.”

“Maybe it's rigged." Hank chuckled. He leaned forward to reach for another chip to dip into salsa. Sumo was nearby, sitting between Connor's splayed legs as he sat on the floor with his back against the couch. Currently, he was eyeing the food with a sobering maw. The only force stopping him was Connor, who held him as he petted him vigorously.  

Wonderboy loved the damned beast of an animal. Sixty snorted as Sumo made a fuss as Hank ate the chip; such betrayal. 

Goody-Goodier two shoes was nearby standing with his arms crossed too focused and analyzing the game with a critical eye. He told him at least three times to sit the fuck down because he was making him twitchy. 

“He does that." Hank waved the middle brother off, who never looked away from the television. "Let him go."

Sixty curled his legs onto the seat and settled further into the cushions sighing. It was a commercial break, and Wonderboy allowed the old man another beer. Two was enough for tonight.

"Fuck off, kid, I know, I know," he said with no heat.

These are the nights he lived for. To relax and simply be. Safe and secure with his family. It felt nice. These nights made it easier to fall asleep at night. That is, when he wasn’t with Kayla.

It had been a long week since his last recharge, and tonight would be the streak breaker.

“Hey, Sixty," Hank's voice came from the kitchen. The hiss and pop of a twist-off afterward.

Sixty craned his head over the seat. “Yeah?”

He didn't get an answer until the old man climbed over Connor, who was giving rigorous belly rubs to a happily growling Sumo and sighed back into his spot on the couch. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Oh boy.” Sixty chuckled lolling his head back down with a crooked smile.

“What’s Fowler got you working on? You’ve been quiet lately. Too quiet for you.”

Oh no.

Connor paused his rough housing with Sumo and Nines, for once, broke his gaze away from the television. He narrowed his eyes at Sixty and he shot him the middle finger. He fucking hated that look. Nines was unaffected.

“Well, uh." He blinked a few times, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. "I can't talk about it."

“Why not?” Nines interjected immediately, already on the defenses.

He rolled his eyes. "It's something like, heavy, okay? I swore not to talk about it." His frustration grew. It was only a moment of curiously and right timing that it would eventually be brought up. The past month had been the hardest and most focused he had worked and quite frankly, it was driving him mad.

They saw it.

He saw it.

But the payoff would be worth it.

"It's… just listen." He placed his hand up in defense. "Jeffery made a deal with me, and in return, I get something good, alright?"

Hank didn't buy it, but the game was back on. He was a wise old man and knew when the mood of a situation was going south. So, he was wise to smooth over the tension that would ruin a perfect night. But his voice hinted that he was still suspicious and hell worried. He grabbed another chip. "What, a raise? Good luck with that, kid. Haven't got one in ages."

“Yeah, right..." Sixty flicked his eyes towards the ground with a watery smile. "No, no… just Jeffery's a good guy under all that big truck little dick syndrome."

Hank snorted and nodded with a smirk as he chewed.

Connor returned to watching the game as well as Nines, but they knew better. Their defenses were up now, and now their eyes were on him closer than ever.

He hoped they would remain smart and just stay out of it until it was done.

It wouldn't be long now, and these perfect nights would be even more perfect.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Laying in the security of his family's presence, Sixty fell into a much-needed recharge cycle as the rest of his family watched the game.

 

Fowler walked into his office every day around nine-thirty. Today it was eleven and Sixty had no problems making himself comfortable in his office.

He felt Hank's eyes on him the whole time. He brushed off Nine's prying questions via their direct link. They didn't understand what was at stake, and if they did, they would disapprove of his methods to acquire it immediately. It was a half-lie that he couldn't speak of his current mission to them. As harsh as it sounded, they would be a distraction. Another mess to try to avoid. He needed his mind, body, and heart in this case.

What he would be rewarded would be all that mattered. And then maybe they would understand. Maybe.

He sat in the chair opposite of his own, (He wasn't brave enough to sit in his chair quite yet) tossing a rather colorful rubber band ball, feet up on his desk.

When the captain did walk into the office, he held a thick file and two data pads. Sixty didn't greet him or say a word.

Heavily, the man sat in his chair and eyed his feet on his desk with a stern glare. He smiled, testing him. The glare darkened and only then did Sixty roll his eyes and take his feet down.

He sighed.

“You’re going out today with Allen's team. Nines is coming along for collateral. Bringing in Joseph Harmon.”

“Oh?” Sixty tossed the ball up into the air and caught it.

"Took over directly for Terry," Fowler spoke evenly.

“Right, right, finally got his location, huh?”

“Thanks to you.”

The ball was caught one last time, and Sixty shot the captain a stern glare himself. "I have my motives, so of course I did." A smirk that fell over his lips was dangerous and cocky.

He narrowed his eyes as if to warn him. “It’s getting dangerous, Sixty. I need you to understand this.”

The android placed the ball on his desk and stretched out his back with a dramatic flare. “My middle name, if daddy would ever allow it."

The Captain wasn't convinced. Sixty saw the way he wanted to say more but refused, giving up with another sigh of defeat. He tended to do that to him a lot. "You leave in two hours.”

It was just enough time to pay a visit to the doctor.

 

Sixty fixed his jacket, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“Lunch was absolutely delicious, love." He looked over his shoulder to witness a rather discombobulated Kayla sitting on her desk with nothing more than a lab coat. It had taken her a moment longer than usual to gather herself. After all, he left her a trembling mess as every man should to their love.

She crossed her leg over the other, drawing her fingers through long blonde hair with a smirk that had him raring to go another round again. “Damn right, it was.” She proclaimed.

She could take it. Oh, could the woman take it and then some.

He turned to face her and chuckled, something dark and hungry.

“Just what the doctor ordered." Sixty approached her quickly and in return, she opened her legs, welcoming him back into her arms. Hands greedily gripped long locks of messy hair as their lips crashed together.

A moan escaped his lips when her hand cupped his crotch.

_Sixty you are late, where are you?”_

No, no, sweet merciful rA9.

Kayla was undoing the buttons he had just done, and everything was swimming once again. He broke away to chuckle, but the woman gripped a fistful of his unruly blonde hair to make him behave. His attention drew back to the fiery woman as he ground into her pelvis with his excitement.

_“Sixty, I know you are with Kayla...”_

His eyebrows drew together in strain as he felt his attention changing from his love to his brother that insisted-

Kayla drew her hand away when his cock was turning soft. “Sixty?”

No. No. No!

“I’ll be there!” He hissed aloud, turning his head away from Kayla with a growl.

The woman chuckled, ticking her head to the side, to follow after his lips with her own. “Nines?” She guessed.

“Who else could cock block me with the precision of a goose after a human’s sandwich?” He growled with anger.

She narrowed one eye giving him a curious look. "Rather an odd simile..."

Sixty backed away, looking up to the ceiling with a dramatic flourish. "Another hit again, we're getting closer to the red ice ring just south of the warehouse district."

He shuffled his shirt into place and collected his jacket discarded on the nearby table. He pulled his belt together and secured it properly.

All the while, he felt those green eyes on him. It made his heart ache to leave her alone so fast. He turned to offer her a soft pleading expression of apology. "I swear this wasn't a hump and dump." He called across the room.

“Be careful.” She called after him with a softening expression. “We have a date tonight, remember? If you come back...” Her English lit made her words seem more of a taunt than a promise.

Sixty placed his hand at the edge of the doorway and smirked, lovingly gazing upon the human that he could call his own. “I know, I promised."

“You did." She confirmed. “See you around, cowboy.”

He patted the doorway with reluctance and made his way down the hallway, but a rattle to his side had him sighing. He spun on his heel gracefully and made his way back into her lab.

Already was Kayla offering a raised hand that offered a small key. The handcuffs that rattled at his wrist were something he would instead leave behind.

“When these are tainted enough, I promise to return them."

“Of course.” She hummed as he took off Gavin’s handcuffs. She placed them in the side drawer of her desk filled with treasures for their erotic adventures.

“Gotta run.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. She slid off the desk with a wobble that had Sixty feeling, if but a little, proud.

Another month had passed, and the air was turning cold. The trees were turning auburn colors, and leaves fluttered to the ground when a flirt of breeze touched their limbs. Sixty had settled into his niche of a job for the most part.

As much as he liked beating up criminals who deserved such punishment, the sinking feeling of still not doing good had him losing interest in the dirty job.

He was the cleaner of the boys in blue. The mafia had their cleaners, and the drug lords had their disposers, the gangsters had their handymen do the handiwork.

The cops had Sixty. So far, he was closing in on an important Red Ice ring.

Taking down Terry Micheals was the metaphorical foot in the door.

_“You don’t have to be a hero, you know?”_

Sixty stepped off of the elevator, making his way towards his brothers and Ass-vin.

_“That’s Wonderboy’s job.”_

Sixty smiled, offering his hands out to his sides. "Tune-up." He explained.

Nines and Gavin were not convinced.

 

The lure was placed, and the trap was set at a scummy bar. Their deal was to happen out back in the alley, where two of his lackeys were waiting.

With the help of Allen’s team, Sixty was to take down the right-hand man to Terry himself. Taking him in was of no easy task. With Terry gone, it was he who stepped up to the plate. The android was fascinated that even underground societies and drug lords had their hierarchy system.

A part of him found it interesting, more so than annoying. When one was taken down, another came. It was an endless frustrating game of whack a mole.

When they were left three to one, the curtain was lifted. Guns were drawn.

They knew that he knew that they knew.

But they didn’t know Sixty.

Sixty made it out with a bullet in his abdomen and a switchblade lodged between his shoulder and neck. It missed a vital thirium line, but if the human had been android, things would have played out much differently.

“You’re getting too close.” Joseph spat. A mean right hook had blood trickling from a split lip and loose tooth.

Sixty hefted the man onto his feet. Gavin was quick to move in with a gun trained between his eyes as Nines made the arrest.

"Ominous, but I don't care," Sixty grunted, forcing his hands behind his back. "Save the theatrics back at the precinct.”

The cuffs were placed on his wrists as he fought messily against Sixty’s stronger hold.

Sadly, Sixty wouldn’t be to one to pick at this fuck’s head.

 

It was Kayla that was picking at his now. Her silence meant more and signaling the inedible doom of a good lashing.

Sixty was sitting shirtless upon the examination table, holding a cloth pressed against his abdomen to stem the minor bleeding from the bullet still lodged within. His head was tilted to the side as Kayla manually reconstructed muscle relays in his neck with a buzzing tool. A new plastimetal plate was waiting nearby to replace the mangled one sitting next to it. A reminder of how close he was to bleeding out like a deer.

He took in a large dramatic sigh. When the woman picked at a raw nerve, he jumped. And it was the perfect opportunity for her to crack her whip.

"If you didn't enjoy this job, we wouldn't be here."

“What else can I do?” He placed his hand out to his sides in frustration.

"So, you're going to let Fowler use you as his gopher."

“Kayla...” He warned lowly.

Her hands faltered and fell away from his neck. She took a step back, taking off her glasses to level him with an equally fiery glare.

He did not step down, nor would she. If anything, this would either turn into a hate fuck session with a thirium kink or thirty seconds of silent treatment to prevent his head from being kicked clean off.

He thought the latter was more likely.

“You don’t know the situation. How I got here.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but anyone can see it’s unfair and cruel.”

Sixty set his jaw firmly, brown eyes looking down at the human with a firm glare. It would take another three seconds for the woman to drop her angry facade and those hands on her hips.

She would then pinch the bridge of her nose and sigh, turn away, and then look back at him with glistening eyes. She would then say what was truly on her mind. 

Three seconds went by. Her hands dropped from her hips, one raising to rub at her nose in exasperation. The woman sighed and turned away to gather a clean towel. 

A soft smile came to his lips when she refused to look up at him with sparkling emerald eyes. He allowed her to change out the cloth pressed against his side with a fresh one.

“Kayla.”

“No.”

“ _Babe_...” He tried again, his voice barely there. He reached forward and cupped her chin. “Come on, spill.” He was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t fight the grip. Instead, she rested into it, closing her eyes.  

She opened them once more, the twinkling replaced with something determined. 

Kayla took his hand away and held it. 

“I read the reports on Hank’s terminal.”

Sixty raised his eyebrows in surprise but that was quickly wiped away. His passwords were never really original anyhow. 

"And what did you find, world-class spy?" He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“You’re a target, Sixty. And...and...” She huffed out a frustrated breath. She pulled her hand from his and indicated his body. “I’m waiting. I’m waiting for the day you won't come in with a bullet in your chest or arm. I started as a surgical assistant in London. I came here to trade my knowledge of flesh for plastimetal. I _feel_ things, Sixty. I see it. Even with humans, the writing is not just in the reports but on the wall.”

“This is the second time you brought this up...”

“You’re getting too close.” She blurted.

Sixty’s heart jolted. He didn’t like that. No. Not one bit. God or rA9 was playing a sick game of very clear deja vu on him, and he didn't appreciate it. “I am. I can’t stop now, Kayla. Getting to the bottom of this case would be a breakthrough for Detroit. If you read the reports, you know what's at stake."

“Terry was just fucking luck, and you know it."

“It was, but Fowler knows my potential, and he sees I can handle it.”

“He is using you as a mop and bucket.”

“He knows I can _do it_.”

When she rolled her head and growled in frustration, he was quick to make a rebuttal. “How about this? How about I make a deal with you, hm?”

He took her by the shoulder, wincing as the new muscle relays pulled at the nerves in his neck the wrong way. "How about this? When all of this bullshit is solved and cleaned up...I'll go to another department.”

“You won’t.” She bit.

"I will. I want to be back on android homicide with the Old Man.”

She reached up and held his forearms. "Cyberlife made you, Sixty, and you can't help but be the chaotic Satan spawn you are. You’ve come so far from just the grapevine, but seeing you now, you've changed. For the better."

Sixty’s eye lowered upon the genuine words. Not very often was he on the receiving nor giving side of praise, genuine praise outside the bedroom that is. So, hearing her soft words and lips move to speak of his growth had him feeling tired, giving in to the way she knew how to calm the chaos in his chest and mind.

Countless nights had she chased away the raccoons.

Countless days had she been the one to extinguish the craze he felt in his hands to destroy or feel some form of the addicting burn of pain.

She was his sanity. And it scared him how much he loved her already. How much beautiful, gentle, guiding, control she had over him.

He took her hand and raised it to pin against his cheek.

“Every day, you go against who you are just to be better. But this position is no longer you. You are better than what they made you. You're brilliant. Better than this."

“It’s me...” It was a halfhearted weakened excuse. The satisfaction of cracking a perps fingers under his boot felt good. Fuck, nothing felt good than a knife being stabbed into him and seeing the shock and horror on their face when a smile crossed over his lips.

And Kayla was right. Deep down, something wasn't right.

He didn't feel like he belonged. A bounty hunter that had a too-tight leash around his neck.

At least when he was with Hank, he could do as he wished but immediately backed off upon a firm order. For this job he reported to Fowler and only Fowler.

He couldn't help but feel a bit dirty, realizing that perhaps something wasn't right.

“One day I won't be able to put you back together."

"It won't happen." He vowed, determined.

Her strong voice countered his own. “You deserve peace, Sixty."

He closed his eyes, bowing his head. It was his turn for his eyes to glisten. He looked back at Kayla and offered a small smile.

“How’s spaghetti for dinner tonight?”

She sagged her shoulders ever so slightly but knew what his dismissive words meant. She knew it was she who was getting too close now. And it was his warning for her to back off for now.

“Just spaghetti?”

"Well, the paycheck says so." He paused. "I can invite Mary-"

She took her hand away from his cheek to pick up her tool. Sixty obediently tilted his neck to the side and closed his eyes as healing hands trailed over him.

“No... _no_." She sighed. "But who am I to complain then?"

 

Joseph hadn’t budged in the interrogation room. Even Nines couldn’t squeeze any information from the thug. Watching over the video feed from the interrogation hours ago had him sitting at his desk, tossing a deck of cards from one hand to the other at a leisurely pace. The rapid sound of cards passing off his thumbs numbed his senses

Nines was direct, but so were those cold grays.

Sixty narrowed his eyes. He wouldn’t get jack shit. Not like this.

If they had allowed Sixty in there, he would have made him croak in three minutes flat. He just had to twist the rules ever so slightly, turn the cameras away and make the birdies sing with some clutched balls and snapped fingers.

He may have a thing for cracking bones.

No matter what, Joseph skirted around every answer, smirking because they couldn't do jack shit to him. And the more and more he watched, the frustration Nines displayed with a clenched jaw was felt by Sixty tenfold.

He held the deck of cards in one hand.

He was brilliant because already he knew Joseph knew something they didn’t. A dirty secret. Like he had seen the movie already and knew what was to happen. It made him nervous. Pissed off.

Kayla was a brilliant woman too. She was not only smart, but she had a knack for taking precautions when she listened to her gut feelings. And right now, maybe Sixty felt it too. His stomach clenched and felt too tight, and suddenly, what could have been called an appetite, was gone.

Because when his brothers left the room and it went silent. Joseph looked up to the camera with a dirty fucking smirk. He bit down.

It was over in mere moments. The pain, the seizure, the foaming at the mouth, and then death as Joseph lay limp upon the metal interrogation table.

The officers that rushed in were too late.

Yeah, they were getting close, all right. Sixty gently placed the deck of cards on his desk, leaned back in his chair, and licked his lips that had gone dry.

 

For the rest of the night, Sixty could shake the unsettling feeling in his gut. One that he knew Kayla planted purposely.

He watched as the young teen scanned his items one by agonizing one at checkout with a faraway gaze. Just for an added thrill to dinner tonight, he bought some shrimp and meatballs. Kayla worked hard and deserved to be pampered a bit.

“Hey, buddy.”

Sixty jolted out of his thoughts and realized he had been staring at him.

"Pay up. You're holding up the line.” He snapped.

Sixty creased his eyebrows in distaste, looking behind himself. An elderly man that was too busy looking at the adult magazine on the rack next to the candy in the impulse section said otherwise. “Right. Anyway.” He offered a tight smile at the cashier and gathered his bags.

The cashier took the money with a curse at him.

Asshole to asshole, he didn't blame him. He bid the cashier a rather polite goodbye and made his way out of the market. With fists in his pockets and the paper bags hanging by his wrists, he walked down the street. He would stop by a nearby bakery too and pick up some fudge cookies.

Kayla was due for her period again, and, no doubt, Sixty had to piss her off with some post-it notes and pickles. On that note, maybe that's why she was so horny as of late. 

He made a sound aloud, causing him to bring his attention to his very existence. He was hyper-aware of himself. Of his surroundings. Because with each shadow that passed by, another one was birthed.

A chill ran down his spine as he couldn’t help but feel like he was being followed. 

He danced in a circle to look behind himself. Of course, his hunch was right. A bitter smile pulled at his lips. 

He was being followed. 

They were coming closer and closer, keeping up with his casual stride.

He laughed bitterly, his breath fogging the air in front of his mouth.

Was this karma for the handcuffs? Or was this that feeling that Kayla planted in him finally sprouting into something he dreaded the most. 

Sixty slowly came to a stop placing the paper bags on the ground, making it a show as he bent down.

Self-fulfilling prophecy.

He straightened his back out, a curve of a smirk coming to his lips. He carded his hand through his hair and looked over his shoulder.

“Can I help you, gentleman?" 

The men in dark clothing circled him. There were four.  

Sixty turned towards the one that stepped in front of him fists being shoved into his pockets, spreading his feet apart in a leisurely way. 

“Money?” Sixty offered, raising an eyebrow. The man continued to stare at him, wordlessly. He was a rugged looking fuck. Strong too. Bald and with a mean scar over his right ear. 

“Dinner?” He indicated his bags with a flourish of his hand, though they remained silent.  “Okay...” He sang.

It was on business then.

The first thought that came to his mind when he heard the oh so familiar flick of a switchblade was he should really call Kayla and tell her he would be late. The next was the fucking instinct to move to the side to avoid said blade from being stabbed in his back. He grit his teeth, taking the fuck’s arm and slamming down at his elbow joint with his own. 

With a spin, he drew the human in front of himself, protecting his body from three bullets entering his chest.  

Before the perp fell, he took the blade from his hand and tossed it at the one with the gun, the sound of metal cutting through air was abruptly ended when it met flesh — specifically the eye socket.  

Sixty cringed, sucking in a sound of displeasure. “Yikes, bud.”

The similar sound of metal through air snapped him out of it when a throwing star wedged itself in the brick next to him. _Holy shit._

He ducked down in time for the other one, striking just next to the star as silver knuckle dusters dug into the brick.

Another star was thrown and so was a fist. Unfortunately, Sixty didn't have a choice as to which one he’d rather had landed. The other fist, that was also donned in silver, was forced into the side of his face. This human knew what the fuck he was doing, unlike the other two.  

The momentum of the blow had him leaning to the side and falling onto his hands and knees. His jaw pounded numbly as a trickle of blue blood trailed from his inner mouth. The worst part? Another metal dusted fist was curved upward into his chest.

He lowered onto his forearms, bowing his head, as a laugh sputtered from bloodied lips.

“Holy shit!" He gasped. Sixty finally rattled around what caused the bleeding in his mouth and spat a tooth on the ground. He lifted his head to smile up to them. "Not even a name, and you're already _fucking_ me dry!” His smirk turned into a grimace as he growled. “Who the fuck are you, huh?!"

Sixty took the man by his calves and pulled, hard, causing him to topple over. He was then quick to straddle the man, turning just in time to catch a knife that was coming towards him in his hand. 

His shivering fist enclosed the sharp blade, squelching with thirium. “Rude. As. Hell!” He bit out. The android twisted his hand harshly, wrist cracking. While the pussy was busy crying over his limp hand, he received another firm blow into his side. The human broke free of his grip.

The android took both his fists, grappling with the impressively strong human. With a twist, he was the one being straddled this time. And he didn't like being the sub. 

“Someone better answer!” He spat angrily.

Sixty's arm was thrown away, enough of a distraction to have the man above him yell out and slam his fist into the concrete where his head just was, as if he had not moved to the side.  

Not a single one dared to answer his questions. He was getting frustrated.

So, with a growl and his hand still free, he shoved his knuckle into the fuck's eye and pressed hard. With the other hand around his fist loosening, he reached up with his legs and pulled him close, twisting one last time so that he was on top again. The other knuckle was pressed into his eye.  

Then, there was something digging into his spine. The android refused to let the human below go, but that didn't mean he didn't straighten and curled his back outwards when it happened.

Another blade was wrapped around his neck, cutting into delicate lines. Thirium bled through the skin as he pulled back. Hard.  

Nope. 

This was not how he was going to go out.

Not without a fucking answer at least.

All three refused to move, not giving up their stronghold in the fight. Sadly. It was not theirs to decide who would win in the end.

It was all, who lost.

The sound of a rumbling engine didn’t make any of those involved look up. It was already too late. The dark vehicle pulled up next to them.

The air went silent — a click of two safeties being disengaged. The knife was blessedly taken from his neck, but that wasn't because the guy had a fucking choice. The sound of rapid burst fire bit into flesh and plastimetal. So fast and too hard to have the android get the fuck away; there was no way the human’s were getting out either.

He couldn’t get out. He couldn’t get-

Bullets dug into every surface of his body, forcing him to turn and fall into the brick wall behind him.  
It was only when both red and blue blood had spilled, and nothing made an attempt to move, did the machine pistols seize their rain of bullets.

For a moment, all fell silent.

Then, the sound of a distant car broke through, honking its horn.

Louder yet, Sixty’s curdling breath filled his own ears as the pain from each bullet made its course. Blankly, he stared ahead as he tried to register the absolute carnage that his body had just taken.

Error after error message popped into his vision: thirium loss and biocomponent damage being the worst of them all.

The click of the locks on the car door were disengaged, drawing him vaguely back to the present. His body was shivering as he made a feeble attempt to sit himself up so he could watch as the car doors open at the same time and out stepped-

Sixty lifted his head and chuckled, the sound gritty and watery. He ticked his head to the side and spat out blue blood. The other two humans were long gone, ripped to shreds and bleeding out

“Well… I’ll be damned.” The android rasped.

Two others winged a man donned in a long black coat. As if mocking their accomplishment, they held their machine pistols, the gunmetal gray sleek in the dark lighting and streaking in the streetlamp just beyond.

Brown eyes flicked from the weapons to the tall man before him. “Donny? To what-to what do I owe the pleasure?” He coughed again, raising himself just a bit more to make himself look somewhat presentable. After all-

“Donovan.” He corrected with a bite. “Micheals.”

-Was standing before him. The center of the red ice ring just south of the warehouse district itself. Twenty percent of the market. What an honor.

“Oh. I know.” Sixty assured with a series of curt nods, blood dribbling from his bottom lip in a long string. “Got a boner for you as of late.”

The man stood before him easily, taking a rather thick cigar to his lips and puffing on it without taking his eyes away from the android. His skinny face and narrow jaw shifted ever so slightly as he tilted his head the other way.

He slightly turned towards the woman to his right and raised an eyebrow. “This is it?" He lowered the cigar, raising an eyebrow. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” Sixty spat blood at Micheals’ feet. “Hey, babe.” He winked messily.

She turned her nose up in disgust, shifting her grip on her weapon ever so slightly. 

Donovan moved forward, kicking Sixty in the jaw. It was messy and half-hearted. Guys like him never did the dirty work. It was more in anger than damage causing. Still made his vision blackout and snap back painfully. He groaned lowly.  

“If I were you, I would curb that mouth. Especially in front of me." 

"Sorry, your highness." There was still a sarcastic undertone to his words. Sixty lifted a barely functioning arm to press into his chest. His thrium pump just faltered and it didn't feel all too groovy. 

Another blow and Sixty had to make an effort to stay awake. 

Donovan chuckled at the android, more so in venomous pity. “For an android with a hefty bounty on his head, you are not smart to walk the streets or run that mouth.”

“Bounty on a bounty hunter. I-Ironic.” 

“You are getting too close, android.”

Sixty knocked his head against the wall behind him in exasperation, regretting it almost immediately. He had to make an effort for his vision to focus to look up to Donovan’s face rather than his foot. “Can’t help but tell you that's not the first time I heard that.” A toothy smile curved over his lips, but it was half-hearted. Sixty wasn't doing so well. 

Realizing that made him more tired and he panicked inwardly more so.  

“News of an android taking down my men spreads fast through the network. The bloodhound.”

Donovan took careful, measured steps towards him and tapped his cigar over his body. "My son, even."

Sixty kept his mouth shut, swallowing the bitter taste of unprocessed thirium. "I kinda… kinda like that...”

"It was time to take matters into my own hands." He crouched in front of him, labeling the android with a bitter gaze. It didn't send a shiver down his spine like he thought it would, but it did make him uneasy. This man before him was a businessman more than a thug. Enough was proven with pussy blows to his face; though something in his nature screamed something dangerous. Something calculated. 

Getting to Donovan wasn’t easy for a reason.

“Technically, these guys did.” Sixty ticked his head to the side. Blood ran in rivers along the street. The smell of death lingered on the cool night air heavily. He was to follow soon. It was getting harder and harder to focus, vision closing in at the edges. The error messages lined Donovan's smug face. 

“They knew what they were getting themselves into. A few men are a cheap price to pay. I like those numbers." He paused, taking in a deep breath of cold night air. "You see, I run a business. And you, well now, you’re bad for business.” He pointed at him with his cigar before taking another long drag of it.

He slowly lowered his cigar, leveling him with that same rusty-green stare as before, not that Sixty would give in to the likes of this human, but up close it felt ten times more demeaning. He blew the bitter smoke into Sixty's face and dropped it into his thigh, snuffing out the Cuban roll with careful eyes.

So what? You-you gonna take me? Torture me, some sort of _f-fucking_ half-hearted ransom like your son did?" He chuckled weakly, but it was cut off by a rising bout of thirium in his throat. He leaned forward, blood coating his thighs as he struggled to vent. Sixty panted, eyeing him through messy bangs when he spoke.  

His voice was tighter, his taunt striking a nerve. “No, I won’t waste time on _you_ , or the DPD. There's nothing that I want that I don't already have. I ended the problem and life will go on. Terry made his bed. The machine runs as usual.

Sixty looked up with his chest heaving with each wet breath. His internal fans were already fucked over. Breathing was getting to that point too.

A timer appeared in his vision, sending everything he had to say out the window. For the second time in his life, he felt fear. "So, without further delays, I leave you to die RK800."

Yes, he was dying. For sure this time. And Donovan's words struck him cold. 

The human raised himself in one fluid motion, flattening his jacket against his body with grace, cleaning his hands of the scene. With a lingering gaze, he leveled the android with a glare before turning away.

“You’re wrong!” Sixty gasped. “Ya know?” A chuckle left after he spoke, but it was garbled. 

Donovan stopped in his tracks. 

“You wanna know-wanna know why you took me down? Because _I do_ -” He had to push the words out of his mouth with effort. His throat was closing in on itself.

“Humor me.”

“I took down your son, your lackeys. I got- got closer and closer. Everybody said I was…. _yeah_.” He said rather sadly. Brown eyes never looked away from rusted forest greens. “You’re afraid. Donny boy.”

This time it was he who laughed. “Afraid? Of what? You? You’re going to die.”

“Maybe.” Sixty accepted with a firm nod and a firmer voice. His voice cleared for a second from swallowing the bitter taste of blood. 

“But one thing...” He gasped for air, pulling it into his overheating body as desperately as he could. “One thing differs between you and I. Me and you..." Sixty smiled, his body visibly shivering in the strain as he leaned forward. "While you didn't go after your son when he was taken down," He had to pause to breathe. It was a wonder Donovan bothered to listen to his blabbering. “My-my brothers will be all over you the moment they find me dead and gone.” He gave out, his back hitting the brick wall heavily, a cocky smile taking over bloodied lips. 

“You still have a bounty on you, Donny, don't walk the streets." He winked. 

Donovan’s lips curled ever so slightly. It was a small victory but nonetheless, still a victory.

He had gotten under the fuck’s skin like he always did. Even in his dying moments, he still could piss off the ever-living being out of him.

“Kill him.” He ordered.

Another burst of bullets had new fire blossoming in his body.

His vision blurred at the sight of Donovan walking away with a rather angry step. The smile remained even when his mouth remained open, to pull in quickening gasps of air. Blood continued to trail in thick rivers.

With that, so did the rain. 

He watched as the car was nothing more than blurred red taillights in the distance. And when he knew he was all alone with the bodies reeking of death and copper, rivers of blood painting the old concrete, did he make an effort to dial a number to a person who was waiting for him to come home.

_“Hey, Sixty, you alright? Running late?”_

Kayla would continue to wait. 

“M’ fine babe...M’ fine...got...” His voice gave out.

The line went quiet and then. _“Sixty? Where are you?”_

He chuckled sadly. “Doesn’t matter...won’t matter. L-Look, I wanna-.”

 _“Sixty, where are you? What happened?"_ Her voice was crawling into panic from worry. 

“I won't make-make it to dinner..." He murmured with a sadness lacing his words. The bags had toppled over and were laying in a puddle of blood by knuckle duster guy.  

_“Sixty fucking answer me right now!”_

“Got into some trouble… and I gotta...” He swallowed the best he could, a new fire burning in his eyes. rA9 and God, he was growing so tired. Too tired. His body was no longer ablaze with pain but numbed. Only if he tried to move would it protest loudly. 

_“Babe-”_

“Listen to me!" He all but gasped desperately. Hearing her worried voice was breaking his heart. Leaving behind his brothers and the old man hurt even more. His chest ached and his eyes continued to burn. 

“I love you...”  He loved Hank. He loved Connor and Nines. Even Gavin was growing on him. He wanted to say those words one last time but he just couldn’t. Silent tears were now streaming down his cheeks as he numbly looked up to the dark sky.

He didn’t have time to call the precinct for his sake. He was long dead and gone the moment the timer appeared into his vision. But fate had a weird way of teasing him. Taking and giving more so taking than the latter.

“...so fucking much." His mind was numb and distant. Nothing else mattered than what he was saying — those three little words that meant the world to him and those around him. So much to say and yet so little time. So many words of praise, appreciation, and confessions, and...and... 

“I’m sorry.”

Kayla was breathing heavily into the phone, sounds in the background as she moved frantically.

No doubt someone heard the firefight and called the authorities. Red and blue highlighted the remaining field of his vision. A shout. An officer fell next to him, shaking his shoulder.

_“I’m coming for you.”_

 

Sixty watched as the fluorescent lights above passed over him, counted them as they came and went.

One…

Two…

Th-

“Three!”

His body was suddenly lifted and placed onto a familiar cold slab. He remembered how he always joked that the thin padding did shit for comfort. But right now? He was glad it was there to absorb the thirium.\

There were voices around him. They were blurry and distorted, but they spoke with urgency and quick sharp tones. Ones that said they were able to pump enough thirium into him to keep him alive. He was fighting, but he didn't know he was. Barely. His eyes blearily opened and closed.

He hasn’t been here before.

He knew pain. He knew the harsh labs of Cyberlife. He knew the harsh hands and the quiet of a too-white room. But this was all too new. 

He was _scared_.

Not the same kind when he first saw a bullet go into his brother and he saw blue. 

Now, it the countless that littered his body. Destroyed him from the inside out, from the outside in.

“Sixty?”

He was dying, wasn’t he?

Numbly, he turned his head ever so slightly. The simple motion was twitchy. He could hear the muscle cables protesting with just the simple motion. More and more thirium drained from him, putting strain on the overworking biocomponents. There was too much lost in so little time. There wasn’t much hope.

Brown eyes locked onto a sight that made him weakly smile. 

Kayla walked into the lab. She wasn't dressed properly. She was still in sweatpants and a sweater that she loved to wear to bed. Pants that hugged her hips so lovely. Her hair was pulled back and her contacts were traded for glasses. 

Immediately, like the fierce woman he fell in love with, she was barking out orders. She took control of the room and didn't allow any troubling emotions to seep through sparkling eyes. She had been crying the whole time. 

Yeah, maybe he was an ass for calling her in his last moments. There wasn’t much time to save him anyhow. 

Sixty open and closed his eyes, the warnings in his vision doing nothing but blocking out his love for the final moments of his fucked, twisted, short yet blessed life.

There was a burning in his chest and immediately did he reacted. Being deviant sucked. He barked out a cry that had him choking.  

“Who didn’t disable sensory nerves!?” Kayla’s fierce query made the burning go away abruptly.

"Without them he will-!"

“Get the fuck out if you’re going to fuck up my patient!”

Sixty closed his eyes, a small curl coming to the corner of his lips. There was a hand where his LED would have been if he had not had an identity crisis. He didn't want to look like his brothers.

He was him and they were them.

Gentle fingers pried the ports in his neck. They were loving, gentle, careful. He felt them before. Cradling his face with loving kisses he had never felt before. 

Fingers that trailed over his body and loved every portion of his synthetic and pearl colored skin. He never knew he could be so deserving of such touches. He didn't deserve such love and every day that went by, he had no idea as to how he had ever been so blessed as he was.

“ _Babe_ …" The word was croaked from his lips and the fingers faltered ever so slightly. Shook where they hung close to his neck. 

“Hang on, Sixty, we're stabilizing you. Hang on."

He shook his head, a wet chuckle coming from the back of his throat as a weak breath. There wasn’t much to stabilize after all. But his love, she would try with all of her fiery might.

The numbers never lied.

Funny how as he watched them count down, as his limbs became heavy and numb, the sensors blessedly cooling the agonizing pain that he could not bear was gone. He looked at everything he had done in his short time being a deviant.

Having a second chance at life. Reconciling for the bastard he was and in so many ways that perhaps was just not _enough_. Was this his punishment? If so, he didn’t mind one bit.

He had a good run. 

He learned so much from it all. From his father, his brothers. He learned how to love, learned to appreciate life a little more with each day. His moral compass no longer spun and twitched, which whatever way, but began to steady and stay true to what was right and wrong. 

He met Kayla.

He met a woman that could calm his frantic thoughts, silence the nightmares of too white walls and pains of the past could bring them both to a trembling mess as he clutched her for dear life and murmured sweet nothings into her soft and warm skin.  

Thinking of all the twisted good he had done to make up for something in his past life and the innocent lives he had taken. 

RA9, or whoever the fuck was listening, he hoped they could forgive him. In the midst of all that was happening, his eyes clouded with tears; for one last time, they focused on Kayla as he suddenly gripped her wrist.  

“I’m-”

“Shut up.”

“ _S-Sorry_.”

His hand was shaking just to fucking grip her wrist. Blood dripped off the fingertips, the sound of the droplets plopping onto the floor echoing in his hearing, the room became silent and all that mattered were those fiery emerald eyes staring back at him through thin wired glasses that lowered as the sweat continued to pour from her skin. 

With those two little words, he meant much more. It was a goodbye, a thank you and an I love you. Acknowledgment of everything he didn't and did do, a plea that he could perhaps be saved in the afterlife.  

His hand fell away from her wrist and hung limply by his side. His vision cut out and there was nothing left to say. The timer in his vision blinking took that away from him.  


End file.
